Tuesday, June 11, 2013
The trees sway, the golden limbs moaning in the wind as they rub, most residue lingering from early dew slithering down each crack and drip off each leaf to leave traces as they caress my face, leaving the scent of late night and the humid breath I breathe in as I move between the trunks, my limbs mingled with their limbs, bit of leaves crumbled in my brown, and their taste still rich on my lips.
I want to take it all in until I burst with the gush and drip with the dew. I am the morning bleeding into the day with my arms and legs spread wide, embracing and being embraced, pulled in, drawn out, losing myself as I am consumed.
I finger the knobs on the tree as I wait, knows chest level just above where the limbs part, the scent of the sea rolling over me as I breathe, though it is the glitter of the bay I see exposed and vibrant, ripples from the wind’s rough touch stirring up a froth. Egrets with their long, slender, white necks strut stiffly along the short, rude and erect against the shimmering black mud at their feet, the slat brine bubbling as it surges and expires.
I feel the ach in the wood I touch, wishing I could be so bold as the egrets, walking so expose in such a public space, to float in the bubbles of brine, and to feel the soft kiss of the wind stirring me up, inspiring me to greater glory