Little WindA little wind was stumbling through the nut orchard
as a hawk rose in anticipation. Some form
of implied consent seemed always to accompany us
like an incidental music. There was a drum sound
or a sheet flapping on a clothesline, and the sky,
sky blue, appeared to be moving in ways that were
both exciting and melodic. It was like finding
a clearing suddenly full with the mystery of life
and we then wished, like kids, to discover what lingered
across the drainage canal. Evening was coming on
and this little wind was stumbling through the nut orchard
as a popular song traveled to us from a truck radio.
rdking