4.16.16 Ribbon of road

     The starlings are gone, and the Eagles, the Broad winged Hawks. All sent for and taken, by other April things. 
     And so we walk quietly by ourselves, down by the farmers fields. As a chill wind encounters the mesmerizing warmth of the overhead sun. 
     As, still, some hawk trills from the tree tops, watching us. 
     As it comes to mind how this summer, we will avoid being here at this time, because the heat and humidity will be surely so great.
     But here? Now? Heaven itself.
     As the small green things emerge from the ground and the fields explode into lush growth. As the buds on the trees transition seamlessly into the very beginnings of tender miniature leaf.
     We all know these places. And if we're able, we go to them, if we wish.
     Where for a stretch, we can't see another human. Where the din of traffic is at least far over there on the horizon. Where all about us are only the wild ones and the growing things. The sublime presence of water, if you have it. And always with us, , the sky and the sun and the wind.
     As we leave, there is a small hint of summer heat along the sun baked dirt road, the multitude of dandelions emerging like golden stars, scattered in our midst, and interminably down the distant ribbon of road.