(c) 11/13/2021
Reckless as a naked babe riding a horse without reins,
abandoned to joy with the welcome Sun
weighted as a Sherpa throw across my back,
this is the season I’ve done nothing but receive.
The past is a wrap, the one where I dotted every “i”
where I crossed the “t”.
Down the street the town’s water reserves overflow
like a loved heart at the end of the day. Orchards pulse
flowers and fruit. The dog comes running when I call.
My favorite of all favorite seasons. I savor it
even if it arrived late and is brief.
Then the yard and the small field out back
fill with flittering things, butterflies, dragonflies
and great white moths circle the porch light.
Aphids invade the Foxtail Barley. The ranch cat’s kittens
have matured and found new homes.
Like bullhorns, dust devils, thunderstorms, and the voices
in wind convergence all trumpet their call
for the child within to crow and grow.
This has happened before.
So many summers require a discrimination
that often is beyond me.
So many Awakenings, some fruitful,
some dead soon upon arrival.
And The World.
Sometimes (s)he comes as a pit of vipers
creating the infinity eight and sometimes
eating their own tails. Sometimes
The World holds you up on a pedestal.
Sometimes it mires you in mud and maggots.
Can you be like the bees? Industrious and pollinating
all the plants in the kingdom, encouraging next year’s
beauty?
Can you ride the wind or surf the tides? Can you disarm the
beast?
Show The World your skills and talents.
When The World is ready to call it a day,
or a period, or a phase, when The World is ready for you
to return to your own rough beginnings
(S)he will show you that what is final, is at last final.
You, Fool, you are at the beginning, not the sidelines
still immersed in thought and one red scarf
submerged in the heart of your own true desire.
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