“We give thanks for the sun, whose energy feeds this great Earth, which, in turn, feeds us.
“We give thanks for the ocean, whose purple waters support our many-limbed body, providing the bed on which we sleep and the
platform on which we work.
“We give thanks for the pale green sky whose beauty inspires us even as it protects us from harmful cosmic radiation…”
Read the rest at Eyedrum Periodically
The bees were getting restless. They had been waiting for over an hour for the humans to arrive, and they began eyeing the pretty yellow meadow flowers.
“Couldn’t we …” began Fluzz, “… I mean it seems stupid to sit around doing nothing … couldn’t we collect some nectar while we wait?”
Guzz had been pacing but stopped to consider. After a moment she shook her antennae from side to side. “No no no … please don’t. Then you’ll want to return to the hive and that’s when they’ll come.” Continue reading A Fresh Start
The rumbling started yesterday afternoon, just a little while after I arrived. Within the space of a few minutes the house got dark, but Grandma didn’t seem to notice anything until she saw the clouds in my eyes. Continue reading Thunder in the Distance
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
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
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.