Wind

it’s a frigid early winter 

day …

no snow on the 

ground trees bare of 

leaves … 

fingers and 

limbs black against a dismal  

gray 

sky …

…..

you are an eleven year old 

boy on a bicycle 

barreling down a black top 

road pushed by a 

powerful western 

wind …

you are the only object 

static .. 

in your world of 

movement …

…..

the road a black 

ribbon

disappears beneath spinning

wheels … 

boulders submerged among 

giant elms separating fallow 

fields of broken

corn stalks, plow lines 

extending into the 

distance … 

approach  …..

run parallel  …..

then 

disappear into the 

past  …

…..

reality pure …

unencumbered by

thoughts and words

appears 

tiny …

distant …

then

looms 

 larger and 

larger …  forming

 funnels of

sustained 

color, form, size and  

movement  …

…..

you are experiencing 

Life 

  within a

river of 

flowing awareness  … 

on a frigid early winter

day ….

…..

your world 

framed 

against trees bare of 

leaves …

fingers and limbs

black

reaching into a dismal  

gray 

sky …

continued …