This is my August reverie…
There is never a perfect time to ponder one’s direction in life. After all, those chores won’t do themselves. The workload won’t ease up. The needs, wants, demands, and fears of the world conspire to pull us from contemplation into action.
But on a hot summer night when the sky glows with sunset smiles and the fireflies ease from their day nests to grace the darkness and the bullfrog on the edge of the pond announces his dominance, I find a way to slough off the cares of the world, to ignore the smoke of Canada’s wildfires writhing down the hill to layer the prairie in warning. I quiet the insistent worry about the political direction of my country and simply breathe…inhale, exhale. I savor the night perfumes, release the concerns regarding the detritus of war, disaster, and predictions. I remain silent among the chorus of night callers, and when a breeze visits my supine form, rattling the screens and lifting the hair from my neck, I give thanks in the only way I can. I lift a hand toward the stars and dream.
In the morning, I write the lines that imbue those dreams, sending them out as arrows into the chaos with a prayer that each finds an open heart in which to land.