I retreat from inside
out into the cold spring air
to sit amongst the trees.
I listen to silence,
the settling of leaves.
A thrasher and a cardinal,
proclaiming their longing.
The dog, searching for something,
breathing quickly to catch a scent,
breaking leaves like other small critters do.
The trees push into the wind,
creaking slowly, sporadically.
Every few minutes, an airplane flies over,
human speed tearing slowly through distant air,
coming on and retreating patiently.
My eyes are open, and though I don’t hear
the way the trees twist and shape themselves
as they grow towards the sun,
it is part of this experience,
like the cold rock that I sit on;
part of this knowing,
like the dirt that somehow makes it to my nose.
@ healthberry farm, ramp hollow 3.11.19