4-19-16

the azalea blossoms are brilliant white and bursting exuberantly from the green bushes like popcorn kernels caught in stasis- all of their dynamic energy present and alive yet still as a photograph. or maybe like a waterfall. i lay in the hammock under the back porch holding davy as we gaze out at nothing in particular while various birds chatter from various directions at various distances. the moon in the chestnut tree not yet in leaf is partially obscured by the brown smoke of a distant forest fire. the other children's footsteps thud thud overhead and their laughter and chatter filters down softly like dappled sunlight falling on a forest floor. a jet plane crosses high above showing silver as it catches the last of the day's light. it flies east to west, beyond the brown smoke, across the face of the moon. and i allow myself a brief thought that i've not thought in years. what would it be like to be in inner asia again. living. working. exploring. maybe it was the dry hot dust i walked in all day. maybe the faint smell of smoke ever present in the air. maybe the passing plane. but before the thought takes root, davy says- inside. and so we go.