Pause With dandelions dormant, green saturating and dark, Summer has accepted its own dying even as the sun hotly yellows and cicadas whine for rain. There is an upright stillness, a silent straining in this un-bursted moment -- held by each flowerlet in the Queen-Anne’s-Lace, recognized in the swelling breast of crow as she doesn’t push the ground for sky. It is good to be here in the dwindling place, rooting without heaviness, preparing without movement. It is good to well without spilling, to container in the waitinglessness and thrum like river rocks do; the gushing rushing them nowhere.
August 3, 2012