Horizons like sunfish
The gooey inside comes running out of the Mother Earth egg and pouring into the sky in the form of the daybreaking Sun. I watch it slither through the clouds and pale pinks, yellows, blues that make up the backdrop of this morning’s avian early symphony. It seems the robins and swallows are taking their time as the gulls and pigeons are, no doubt, getting the worm. A hawk, half my size, shakes a tree across the way to let every man, mouse and child know that even if a tree falls in the woods and no one’s around to hear it, he’ll still be watching us all like a…well, hawk.
Feet up toward that big omelet star that’s turning my yesterday into finally-tomorrow I enjoy a bagel with spicy hot cheese and a fake cappuccino drink like only American impatience could brew up. The Internet heats up in front of me, my modern version of the morning paper, and a friend reminds me that technology is progressing at what some might call dangerous speeds. I think of it as all good times and amusement, knowing full and well that before my time’s over I’ll have shunned all of these nifty gadgets and gizmos which I’ve grown so accustomed to in the stead of a life spent growing squash and gathering nuts in the deeper darks of some mountain forest.
But fearing change is hilarious so I simply watch as it all speeds by me. A car with a broken tail light, an old 1979 Ford Fairmont, nearly the same age as myself but it has seen much harder times. How could such a powerful beast-thousands of pounds worth of metal and grind, a steel ox that can guzzle gasoline and spits smoke-be in such worse condition than me, a mere bag of blood and bones who, if confronted head on by Ford Fairmont himself, would tumble and crush below him instantaneously?
I wonder if the Sun is sitting up there thinking something similar. “How can that human, with its ability to invent and build so quickly, and move of its own accord, be such a fragile little thing?”
And where the sky lives and arrives from.