Before the rain
we saw the meandering pathway quiet and still. Sometimes a cry would come from
the whistling trees though. The wind brought itself down from the skies and
carried on through there for moments until it was heard and heard and heard.
The top of the world was becoming gray, overcast, and thick with itself. Though
this almost completely opaque thing went a jumbo jet, - there it is, between
clouds, and there it goes, - away, hidden, like a phantom. Then, a few minutes
later, another one came. Only a few souls arrived around there, and that was
towards the end. Some of the wildflowers perished or curled up for the cold and
rain, while others, like the Trilliums, proved resilient and went the distance.
In fact I think more lived than not. The black parts of trees or mostly trunks
are still there, where the lightning had struck a long time ago. We did not go
see the old fugitive’s car, or the coyote, deer, or wild turkey. Oddly enough I
don’t remember even seeing a little black squirrel or a chipmunk. No, none of
the usual suspects were present this time. It was just a walk, routine, step
for step for step that is not extraordinary or else cursed. At the end came
some rain, first in just a few drops, but then more pronounced. We had to deal
with the careless drivers, the tailgaters, and the so on. A big fountain
sprouts up water on the way. It’s odd, to see water spraying in the air whilst
water is falling down from the air. Water against and then with water. The
sight of water, with no sound, because we are too far away. The old tractors
sit, waiting, by the new tractors, for something to do. The earth is on pause. It’s
a liminal time before the real summer swings into action. That is when the
coyotes will run, the sun will have fun, the squirrels will scurry to and fro,
the stream bubble, the sand will even be brighter, more distinct. The land will
awaken from its dream and live. Providence will pay a visit and hence the world
will be borne…
That is when the
bees and the breeze shall buzz.
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