May 5, 2013

  • My breath mists in the air smelling like water released from earth meeting the sky trees in bud. Bird song echoes from tree to ridge to my ears, songs of birds building families wrapped in my worn, dog-chewed healing quilt, the one she said made me look as if I were an ancient priestess.  I rock, generating warmth amid the dewy morning dampness. if scars are a warrior's beauty mark, then surely I am one of the best.

    Phoebe! Phoebe! Phee! 

    Songs of the chickadees. One brave sould comes to a tree near me.

    Sliver of moon in the dawning sky,the ridge is glowing,

    Not the near one, the far. For the first time I notice seed pearl buds on the old apple tree, the ones they played on the one Mario, the iguana claimed as her own amidst very thin,whippy branched twigs cupping the sky. 

    Words keep coming. Words sweep the sky spring into mind as I name Creation around me. This morning I cannot stop the words. Somebody turned on the faucet gushing torrents of cool, descriptive words giving shape to my day. 

    Stella pinned me to the bed, her sleek little body pressing, sucking the warmth from my own body, generating more until my bones ached too much from not move. She is leaden, pressing down into me. 

    Catapult.

    Sliver of moon, gray blue sky.  I see trees I would like to thin to see the mountain better, but I will not cut them. I cannot endure their screams. Trees hurt, too. They only want to help. 

    Wait! I must not neglect the water! Water distant ,rushing and now the steely blue Canada Jay raises voice:

    " I am here!Here! Hear!" Late to choir this Sunday morning. 

    And now the earth is moving,moving to show the brightening. I feel the earth revolving, Fast! Faster! Fastest! yet I do not cling to her with crescent fingernails, one crescent in the sky. I am held to her with the gently embrace of gravity. The gravity of the situation and now Lora's breath in three beats takes in scents a canine oenophile scenting the heady bouquet of morning.  Someone's rooster crows. 

    I lift my head, take my eyes away from the page and catch the subtle half moon of light kissing the mountain Mons.  So much to see,hear,smell in this dynamically quiet forest. Spinning downwards, the sun revealed lances my periphery, lights the trees, buds,birds,dog.  I will put down my pen and be, the forest silhouette blazed into my retinas.

     

     

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