just beyond the stone wall

Finally, the sun. It comes on like birds, an endless flock of them swirling up into the sky. And there are birds. You are on your bike at the base of a hill. You are sweating. There is a barn off in the distance, and the birds rise up like leaves caught in a whirlwind. They spiral the air, and you believe they are leaves at first, some miraculous and strange gift of the earth. You wonder why they do not crash up into the air like this by your house, for you could stand watching for hours. And then you know they are birds, and you laugh.

Rain. The rain that will put skin on the bones of the skeleton trees. The green begins to rise from the earth, flowers showing the tips of their heads. And though it is cold still, spring has arrived. You have left the garage on your bike many times, and ponder the purchase of a long-sleeved, wool jersey.

They predict a heavy snowstorm this weekend and you have come to revel in the absurdity. You feel you could punch away here all morning, but a trip to the grocery store demands your attention. So you leave. You will come home and have lunch in the cold sun. You will play guitar. Sing. Watch the green come alive. Bugs flitting. Bees and beetles. Ladybugs, red with life.

{still no conclusions about this place} {none} {but you can feel them looming like warriors, just beyond the stone wall}

Posted by jeff pitcher at April 22, 2005 10:12 AM

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