Almost June
Almost June
Yesterday was more grey than blue. Last night thunderstorms finally came. I always sleep better in a storm. A generous exhale. This morning I woke up to wind. The apartment smelled like rain. The rain smelled like memory. Today is green and overflowing with sky and water. Have you ever noticed the tiny fibers like hair on some leaves like skin? I save rocks, shells, leaves and flowers pressed, abandoned nests and hollowed hives. Looking for home. Sometimes I open a book from my shelf and leaves fall out like a gust of wind shaking a tree branch in early November. There is one, a brittle autumn sunset of red and gold, with fine brown tips. I gather these parts of me and slip them back inside where they are safe for the moment, from air and light and all those things that nurture life. In the car, I stare too long out the window. I hear your conversation. We're alone in the car, but I'm not certain you're talking to me. I'm watching a jet's curling tail trailing the sky. The letters "N," "O" and "W" scribbled in cursive wisps of exhaust, a sign of fair weather.
Yesterday was more grey than blue. Last night thunderstorms finally came. I always sleep better in a storm. A generous exhale. This morning I woke up to wind. The apartment smelled like rain. The rain smelled like memory. Today is green and overflowing with sky and water. Have you ever noticed the tiny fibers like hair on some leaves like skin? I save rocks, shells, leaves and flowers pressed, abandoned nests and hollowed hives. Looking for home. Sometimes I open a book from my shelf and leaves fall out like a gust of wind shaking a tree branch in early November. There is one, a brittle autumn sunset of red and gold, with fine brown tips. I gather these parts of me and slip them back inside where they are safe for the moment, from air and light and all those things that nurture life. In the car, I stare too long out the window. I hear your conversation. We're alone in the car, but I'm not certain you're talking to me. I'm watching a jet's curling tail trailing the sky. The letters "N," "O" and "W" scribbled in cursive wisps of exhaust, a sign of fair weather.