When Aches Persist, I Grow Resentful of Gravity

Soft wind here sounds empty, like air collapsing into a void, but I know it is mostly the sound of trees resisting movement. Nights when wind is the loudest sound I sometimes stand listening to that whir of leaves and needles which arrives from all directions and imagine the forest, wearied, giving up the fight and floating into the sky. I imagine stars flickering behind moving groves overhead, the earth a flow of shadows, and a granular rain of dirt released by dangling roots. I find it a peaceful vision, this letting go of ancient woods, no longer stolid and strained, but relaxed and freed from the soil's confinement. Sometimes I think the wind is like a siren, singing of how there is nothing that could not benefit by being gifted with the ability to float free and ride the air. A walk in the floating woods by starlight would be nice.

( Sunday Verse )

Hot

The shadow of a raptor rakes the sunny part of the yard. I don't look up, but take refuge in the deep shade of the mulberry tree. Even there the heat is intense. The upper leaves are a green fire and the brightness beyond them painful. I can smell the dry grass. When the air stirs, it does not cool. The stalks of the sourgrass are wilting and the leaves turning yellow, despite deep watering two night ago. I absorb the enervating heat and think about sleeping. I could lie on the brown grass and the birds would come to pick my bones clean and I'd never know.