When I look above the treeline,
I see the clouds opening,
A gull embraces flight,
and I track it across the late afternoon sky.
The clouds are indecisive.
Rain? Sun? Neither.
Just the remainder of a day heading to meet a dusk secret.
Hushed by heated water vapor escaping into the air.
Other birds chirp, and I do not know their names.
They gather twigs, harvest insects.
Nature is a busy industry,
defiant of encroaching societies.
A random Monarch Butterfly oscillates past me.
I’m captured in its tractor beam, by its in-flight movie.
A solitary being.
An independant film, full of beauty and lessons.
A meddling midwife, this butterfly.
Pulling daft dullness from my wounded womb.
Clearing the ledger of my mind.
Stultification usurped by creative energy, passion, and fury.
Rebirth, one fluttering wing at a time.
Oceans away, waves search for the moon’s…
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