I am writing this down, drop by drop, just as it falls from the sky ⸺ a gentle rain, again perhaps the start of a Summer storm.
Faint thunder detonates the distance and growls down mountains, triggering an avalanche of decibels.
Small, unopened sunflowers stare sightless up into the overcast atmosphere, while the heavens’ only sol-bloom shies blind-ed behind dense acres of cloud.
A whole world between words upsets a particle or two here and there of some absolute boundary inscribed in the dust; plummeting water sculpts tear-drop-shaped craters in sand-drifts banked along the road.
Now there is no eagle to stand the sky on end, and no fox to set its dirty orange fire to the gloom.
Suddenly, I am jumped out of my skin: all the fault-lines in my nature are analyzed both with and against the grain by a forked strike of instantaneous X-ray lightning and, almost in the same split-second, thunder deafens (and defines) the length and breadth of my fragile auditory nerves.
Lost in the moment, one large white cockatoo feather twirls ⸺ gloriously ⸺ back to Earth.
Photograph: 澳洲唐人溪：向日葵 Sunflowers, Chinaman Creek, Australia (2020)