Wednesday, June 25, 2025, 74.4* 0706
Morning withholds her humid breath. Ever so briefly, clouds shelter me and the three from Soleil’s rage. Soleil protests: “All that happens is not within my power. I follow an eternal path laid out by my Father on the fourth day. I am a gift. You seek my warmth. You ask me to dry the ground, to lift up the flowers. You curse and beseech me. You take for granted that I will return day after day. I am constant, a symbol of hope not scorching heat.”
Legs flailing air, two June bugs lie on the deck hoping to reach something to right themselves. The pond, now less water, more land, enough dry land to walk to the other side. Not for me, not with a cane, not through gouges where boulders were ripped from earth by a metal hand, not through the lush green joined hand-in-hand hiding the scars.
Blue-headed Vireo, Pileated Woodpecker, Northern Parula, Ovenbird, Red-eyed Vireo, Black-throated Green Warbler, greet the morning. Later, it may be too warm for any voices.
There is a time to sing.
Photo: LJ Austin
