Sunday, May 4, 2025, 42.3* Overcast
Leaves unfold in minuscule increments. Accompanied by the flowing chorus of the stream, a Northern Water Thrush sings. Raindrops cling to edges of solar lights, divers waiting for the rush of free falling.
Air tips the scales to the heavy side, barometric pressure going down. On days like this I wonder if birds must work harder to fly, perhaps that is why they don’t this morning.
Something is out of balance. Music that should calm me, scatters my thoughts, my words so that I am listening to notes, not writing. Maybe it is the air, not the music that distracts me. Perhaps this is what happened those days in elementary school fourth grade when I would wander around the classroom as if dazed according to my teacher. I don’t remember. I still have the report card she wrote it on. What is the breath to brain frequency? What if I just wasn’t getting enough air? The teacher wrote that I would go and stand by an open window. I was considered a disruptive child.
Air hunger. Feed me.
“Which of you,
if your son asks for bread,
will give him a stone?”
Matthew 7:9 NIV
Art: LJ Austin
