Today

Today the world is breaking my heart.

My gaze pointed upward, I follow a single Canada goose, flockless and singular in the sky which is hard and grey like slate. Its honk is frantic and echoing, its body ungainly, its masked face, a marvel, a mystery. I call out, extending myself, wishing desperately to accompany it, but remain tethered, earthbound. Why do I not have wings?

The two old bulls that live in the field with the willow stand heavy and close, grooming each other tenderly as the fog swirls around them. Their long purple tongues move slowly, carefully across the other’s neck and the rough whorled black fur. What else could this be than love?

Near the spot where the calla lilies rise verdantly, their stems thick and lush with life, I find a hummingbird’s nest downed after a recent storm. Tiny and plush in my palm, it feels like a mouse and smells like moss, like water, like home. Woven in with the dried grasses and fleece and bits of string are many strands of my hair, dark and silver glinting. What happens to a bird when its refuge falls from a tree at night in a gale; where is shelter then?

The persimmons are dripping from the tree, the fleshy fruit like blazing orbs. They hang from the ashy branches like a fire lit in the dun-colored landscape. Dark heart-shaped leaves cover the tree’s roots like a blanket. How can something so ripe, so fertile exist amidst all of this death?

Today the world is breaking my heart. There are tears soaking my face yet my eyes are crinkled;

I am smiling. The beauty cuts sharp and runs through me like clear, cold water. Tomorrow will come without trying. Here is what I have.