justwrite 9 july

outside this morning the right words hurried sunflurries into my mouth and through my head ready to be written down smitten with their own clowning and owning the right devices the figurative deliveries the shivery correctness of each step blissfully forward I was in a field afield in the flowers aflowering showers of wildlight colors queen anne’s lace waist high and periwinkle thistles tickling skyward while poppies in papery shy surprise at their own brightness taste pieces of the wind and flutter in bashful excitement the yellow paintbrushes the rush of primary colors this is where the world begins to unpack itself to settle in and set up shop to hop onto the roadside and sell itself to passers by and I am filled I was thrilled with the joy of accomplishment no speeding past no records set but still out of bed and into the day dawning cloudy and cool but no excuses worth considering no more lingering I am heading into the else the rest of the picture opens up and the cows do their best to do what they do and so they see through the excitement their bites meant to be chewed more times than we know how and they show their meditative states in brown glazed eyes hardly spying in hiding merely nearby and I stop to walk I slow to talk in motion to say there is no need to worry I’m not a danger and they have no stranger fears they can see it’s just me the same one to whom the old man called and where are we running to? but when his voice came through my music I had already laughingly waved and on the loop back another track camouflaged his follow-up and I cupped the joke in the air and swatted it down with a smile with style to say I have no idea what words I ought to have heard but I know how to respond I have seen the fishing pond and I am still and I am ready to catch to be caught and what ought to be will and I know that’s fair to say but it’s an easy play to sketch out at this point and at this joint in my finger a lingering sensation of wind typing but the colors mostly lost tossed throughout the laundry day and stretched across the meager balcony to soak up the part that’s not partly cloudy rowdy beams pushing through windy angles tangling up my socks and summerwear even there as my swimsuit treads air I am going under in no hurry to surface until I remember the cool half-melon waiting for dessert