summer

I lay on my back, face to the sky, watching a fly paint a picture on the sky blue canvas. I wondered if flies are consciously making patterns in the air, and if we watched them if it would reveal a secret code. My mind wandered. Fly brains,wings,oxygen, and I came back. Trampoline underneath me, breeze on my feet.
I willed my body to move, and lay my feet in the soft grass.
I began to walk home, slow down I told myself. I was a kettle on a stove. I looked: trees, they talked to me. I always loved them, they were creatures. Wise,sensitive, and also a wonderful audience. They whispered to me, told me to think and be grateful. I thanked them, they went back to their own communion. Pavement, feet on pavement, body on feet. Simple life, slow and warm and ambling. I worded this blog post, realizing I must capture a moment and warm it in my palms and then let it soar. Like a firefly.
The ocean spread in front of me, and somewhere deep in my soul, I was swimming. Letting my body carve through blue ocean, and feeling it gently caressing me. The wind blocked the sound of birds, and I realized:
I am alone.

exhale and be. My feet kept walking, and an echoing train horn reminded me of civilization. I cradled a flower in my grasp, and noticed something I never noticed before. I was so grateful for it. Just, for life. My feet were walking still. They seemed to know what to do. Even when I didn't always.


flywriter