Sunday, May 25, 2025. 48* Overcast
Soleil has not been painted this morning. Mariah plays new leaves like piano keys. The Blackburnian, Black-throated Green and Chestnut-sided warblers converse with Black-capped Chickadees, Ovenbirds and Red-eyed Vireos. A Cooper’s Hawk talks above them in staccato voice. Black soil of the fenced-in land rearranged darkened by rain.
Last night, the peeper chorus again. I can’t imagine singing when it’s this cold, but it’s what they do and when.
We were together early this morning, still in bed talking on a beach without speaking. Miles, grains of sand water softly lapping. Close, separate, dimensions apart now vanished. Redwood trees cut to firewood length stacked then as if a giant breath from underneath blew them apart. The ocean began throwing rocks into the air. A giant swell close to shore like a whale emerged, briefly an eye. With a whoosh in front of us rising higher a stone mountain.
Sleep transcends time and space continuums.
Art: “Spiritus” LJ Austin
