i’m in my backyard under the orange tree. listening, napping, i’m writing. i’m bathing in dappled bright and muted dark.
tree branches stir, murmur persuasion ‘shush, stay still’ ‘hush now, hear the soft’ ‘feel the air.’
over closed eyelids, smudged shapes with no edges, come and go. soft light and dark flicker. flicker except that nothing shines. all is muted, gentle movement. the stillness picks up and an airy touch feathers by. lightly.
lying still, being present, wisps of hair flutter. this play of light and shadow over closed eyes, a favorite sensation, a lifelong appreciation for the quiet waft. all at once i am here, and i am years and years ago. eyes closed, the lightest of breezes can transport me back.