Sitting at my desk, I am alone. I am pondering things.
I am dallying a while.
I feel the need to pause.
Staring out at the rustling mulberry tree,
mature, now sprawling, roots breaking through the earth
Leaves whooshing, shimmering, trembling
It is Kansas, after all
Stillness is rare
Quite like a thought life
Shimmying and looping and grafted into the core being
Sounds of the day are gentle and far. I listen.
We are slated for change
A clean slate broken and handwriting sprawled all over it
Chalk dust remains embedded despite repeated erasures
It is no use beating the erasers
It’s not their fault
A. Locke 2013