Sunday, April 3, 2011

It begins

It begins

with a quiver

of thought

so thin

the wind

blows through it

the wind

becomes a word

for “thank you”

and so it spreads

like welcome rain.

if you wait,

they will come:

broomsedge to goldenrod,

sweetgum to winged elm

an epidemic of tall trees,

supple, arriving

on the edge of ice.

I have taken lately to following the slightest sliver of impulse to contact a friend. I want to be promiscuous with these impulses. Risking decorum, defying temperament, I make the call. I have to believe these seeds are as opportunistic as any and will take hold in lava fields, on glacial tills, on craggy hillsides. Around the world, lands which have been laid bare by fires or humans follow a similar pattern of recovery. This pattern is referred to as "natural succession."

Written for OSI, prompt, "epidemic".