Hummingbirds in the hibiscus under a stained glass morning. Focused, or seemingly so. How bizarre that one's day-to-day nothingness leads to the accomplishment of being! Days drain from one smeary landscape to another. More than ever, I am merely passing through. Everything thinner.
October asks and Love answers. When the unbeatable cancer was looming, only one sorrow collected into a pulsing nerve center around the heart. One syllable sinking into the river, racing. Now distanced from death, on the embankment of safety, why not give thanks for the dry feet before the winter sets? And yet . . .
Clouds collect and turn green; a storm is unavoidable. An oppressive heat fogs the glass and causes my lungs to faint. Wilting is a problem, but not at 4 a.m. Everyday for the last two weeks I make use of my camouflage, working hard undetected in the early dark. What happens when I get away with it all?
The female hummer hovers long enough for us to recognize each other. Here and gone. Repeat. The earth finds a way to let us through.