MORE THAN A WHIMPER

THE RAIN WILL COME BEFORE THE SUN FALLS I am in a wheat field, alone; the husks are tall and abundant, I break them in my hand, bringing them to my face I smell the grains, it is a good crop. I walk through the field, knowing not one other human life, stirs, not one hundred miles within a three hundred and sixty degree radius of me. There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the plants or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost? I no longer know when I am thinking or speaking, I have no awareness of bodily functions I have stopped counting time, stopped keeping time I no longer know how long I have been here. The rain will come before the sun falls. It will be good for the crop. The plants are thirsty. I walk to the farm house. A red tiled, clay roof. A bricked chimney. The walls are bright white. A fresh coat reflects a blinding light. I am glad all the same. The only sound is from below as my feet crush The foliage that covers the ground. I listen to every crunch. Noise! I smile. I like hearing. I like sounds. I have not oiled hinges, since long ago. I like the squeak it makes; it seems to get louder everyday. Noise! I enter my humble abode. I laugh. I say it again. My humble abode. I like the sound. I say it several times, more. I laugh. I love my laugh. What a great laugh. What a pleasure it is to laugh. It is warm out but I light a small log in the fire place, I sit in front staring, listening. After a while it sings to me, Jimmy crack corn and I don't care, buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I love the sound wood makes, the several different colors of fire. I am silent motionless. I love the show. I watch, listen. Until it’s over and only the ashes remain. There are screams, the voices of millions; I want to close my ears, instead I listen. A drop of dew rolls off and splatters like an ocean on the earth at my feet. Was it the house or was it me? Who cries, a planet lost? I am hungry. I eat bread with tomato, cucumber and sprouts. I eat. Slowly. Savor every bite. Fresh. I do not taste acid. That is good. The water is clean. The tomatoes burst in my mouth. The seeds riddle the back of my throat. The cucumbers crunch and quench my thirst. The sprouts tickle the back of my throat. But the bread is the best of all fresh from the wood oven still warm. My compliments to the chef I think and once again I laugh. A belly laugh. It is a good joke. I am the chef. I laugh some more. I must have closed my eyes when it got dark. I always do. Then visions and stories fill my sensibilities. I love it. I have made my way outside and I am sitting looking up. The Sun is at the bottom making its way back up. It is a light show against the sky. I wish I could add logs to it and hear it crackle. I am amazed by this gift and I thank Mother. I am flying inside myself. My face wants to burst at the lips. I do not budge; I swallow it all through my eyes. Taste it carefully never biting once. I revel in the silent music the golden heat plays. I touch it inside out. I inhale the scents of the yellow globes slow walk back to the top. My house absorbs it all. The whole drama plays perfectly on its large perfect colorless wall. I still have colorless liquid in the barn. There is so much of it. All the tools to use it, there are many brushes and trays and poles and ladders. I will spend the light painting the house today. I love the glow, and the funny smell leaves quickly enough. Today will be a busy day for me. The world is quiet, it is empty and still I breathe. I wonder if I am the only creature left. How will I replicate. Mother is beautiful. She will always be here, perhaps it is better it ends with me, perhaps it is. to be continued... armandhamouth