The heat of day...
He's quite certain that his parched throat, his squint means no disrespect to the sun.
Morning breaks and with comes the bravery of songbirds seeking food
It humbles him ... the wispy clouds... the brilliant blue.
The smells of the day make him reverent... the heat from the grass... the saturation of growth.
Why does he feels these measure so strongly... the rhythms of people around him...
What's so powerful?
Peers listen, but do they want to know... they care, but are they willing to allow...
For happenstance?
When they rest... when they finally square up and claim the ground they want...
How will they -- care for it...
Communicate about it...
Tend it...
Laugh over it...
Earn a living from it...
Give in to it...
Praise it or master it...
Cry on it...
Make love within it...
Breath their last breath lying there.
What repayment do they all make, he thinks, when the marketplace comes for its due?
Fire in the hearth and a place to make sighs... where the mind can linger from a depth within.
Help, he asks, to recognize that space for growth, for failure and more attempts, for rest and querying.
Help to speak to power as you would the feeble... and smile just the same.
