How the Birds, Beat with Summer Heat, Still Keep Their Promises.

       The cool mornings of spring are gone. A window left opened for a night breeze will only yield the sounds of sleepless birds searching for cool puddles in the dark black heat. Summer has arrived to challenge freshmen life just clear of the bony grip of winter in its arrogant youth. I lay. Still. Shirt less.
       The birds grow quiet. Finding relief, they retire. Exhausted. Behind frozen lids a white land meets the horizon. A storm, cold and stiff, settles in. Hands become cracked with ice and wind while legs end just below the knee and feet have forgotten sensation. I lay. Motionless. Packed like fresh fish. Eyes Open. Breath dancing in circles.

       The birds wake with labored song. Tired yet determined to fulfill their commitment to the sun, that grand entrance of the day their ancestors swore to cherish. Eyes Open. I lay. Still. Glad with perspective.

Where The Dark Lives

       Being uneasy stalks a person like a striped cat in tall grass waiting for hours as little birds hop unknowingly closer in their search for seed and fresh worms. Its wild tail slapping the ground on both sides in untamed eagerness to hold beating wings between clean paws. Fear needs no reasoning, no excuses, no warning. No one needs the darkness of woods, the shadows of trees at an open back, or calls in the distant dark to pull a hat down low over the eyes and walk faster toward the light.

                                     For One I Love, You Are Not Alone.



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