30 Apr Fri 2010
Spring winds
A fine wine of wind and dusty settle on my tongue, sting my eyes and lay waste to all things tender and green. I weep. This is the deserts' spring. The songs of rains, lions and lambs are far off tune here, mocking and un-real. As I stand angled to the relentless breath of this western wind I recall adages of youth, involving peeing and spitting but here now it is seed and mulch. Thrown with the wind to be spread in perfect patterns beyond my flesh and bone abilities. I watch as fine dust settles on leaves, piles beneath those hardy winter greens. There must be some mystery of restoration, recycling, rejuvenation occurring, binding the seeds into the cracks building layers of nutrients and insulation. But my eyes burn and this angle is hard to hold. I hum some forgotten melody and think of sandpaper as I swallow craving some cool water.
Eric_1
11:48 AM MDT