The silver tops of prophet’s beard bounce in the autumn breeze
the rust and browns and golds all that is left of the brilliant colors
the sky a study in values of grey as the golden rays of sunshine
cast a spot light on the land, here, and over there.
My breath is a white cloud in the crisp morning air
as I tilt my head up to look for the geese I can hear passing over head.
I have this thing inside me, an emptiness
that I cannot begin to express
it is not a wanting, nor is it a needing
but it is a noticing
Sometimes I feel like everything is wrong
as though the world had other plans for me
have missed all the sign posts.
Othertimes I feel like everything is right
and the sun is shining a spotlight
and like a line from MacBeth
I strut and fret my hour upon the stage.
And now I am in the middle
looking left and then right
and asking myself
a lot of important questions
ones I cannot begin to verbalize
but are searing in their quest for truth
poignant in their quest for meaning
wise in their quest for understanding.
A big rough and strong hand gently reaches for me
and my belly is full of butterflies
as I remember
what it is to be loved, and to love.
And here I thought,
it was just the hormones of youth
like a baby smiling because it has gas.
Am I wincing, or is it just a really big grin?