The Path

Over the chicken wire, under the fence post, across the field towards the huddle of trees in the distance. My heart flutters as I follow, because I’m following her. There is a still hum to the field as bugs hang in the air. The grass is as high as my waist, and when I see her almost to the trees I rush too much and fall. My hand is scraped and little beads of blood sprout at the base of the palm. I stop for a moment in the lee of the grass where it is cool and even quieter.

When I get up she is gone. I resume my run, ashamed and cautious and heart fluttering heavier than before. Continue reading The Path

Night Walks

I used to walk with the dog, but her broken foot won’t permit that any more. It feels selfish to be glad about that — no more stopping to sniff every ten feet, to circle and ruminate on the rotation of bowels until I finally lose patience and give the leash a tug. I just want to walk, hands in pockets, podcast in ears, legs in steady rhythm. Continue reading Night Walks

The Flea

There was a stick in a stream steeped in mud, immobile and old.  There was an ordinary flea sitting on it.

The stream went under the flea on the stick slowly, and a light breeze made the leaves ruffle on a tree nearby.

There was a fish in the stream wagging its tail.  The fish was by the stick in the mud and it wagged its tail slightly to counter-act the flow of the stream.  The fine mud swirled at its tail.

There was a hovering bird in the sky.  It moved its wings against the gentle breeze.  It hovered above the stick and the flea and the fish.

This took a moment, and in a moment the bird had flown away, the fish had swum beyond the stick, and the flea was gone as if snatched away by an invisible hand.