Caragana Chorus

Day breaks under the weight of yesterday.

The sun rises, while I sit in the yard, staring at the Caragana's surrounding me,

feeling the wisps of summer air whisk by onward, carrying a sweet *whoosh* by my ears.

A crow sounds off in the distance, breaking the wind’s chorus, adding unknown notes to the seasonal concerto being performed.

Walking now, the low rumble of the road reverberates through my feet: grain truck, five miles away.

Looking, on either side of the road, an ocean opens up;

Waves crashing through the fields of mustard, wheat, and canola.

Soon it will be harvest, and home’s concerto evolves, adding the mechanized swoon of grain collection.

Night swoops in chasing tomorrow.

At the next farm, dog barks break the bastion of still darkness,

Crickets roar in song; lions in their own slough-oasis,

Oil horses whinnying into the night with their ceaseless neighs, pumping,

Pumping the lifeblood, viscous and thick, out of the ground,

All while I stared, limitlessly, into the starry void,

Still sitting, as before, contemplating my smallness, hugeness, and everything in between.

The sounds crept through the silence to break my attention,

Reminding me that this is just a memory,

Desiring to find that once more.