The day is a reflection of me; fields are
contemplatively quiet, sky is grey and blue. Mud buffers each boot. I even
wonder what to write of, today, and I know that isn't how this works. Words
find me, I am their roost. In my mind, a dull settling. Overhead, a pheasant,
thoroughly annoyed. I see the ornamental silhouette, too late for the camera to
be pulled to action. Perfect time to remember the camera. Dog appears, another
perfect timing, wagging her tail as though to check her brilliant diversionary
plan has worked. The illusion of collusion. Now I am smiling, not thinking,
work turns back to play. Here is light, here is shadow, here is the vast spread
of turned earth, the warm fertile loosened earth.
Run my hands through dried grass seeds, a shimmy of a
noise. The beginning of music, I think, where things touch, and speak to the
air of that meeting.
Comments
You know when you work so hard on something, or several things all at once, and however much you reason that when the work is done you just sit back for a while, you kind of expect some fireworks? I've been like that most of today.
Hope your words are finding you :-)