movement

Movement, by Caryn Ogier

There is stillness in this place.

Look harder. There is more.

There is the feeble flutter of a tiny oak tree.

There is a slowly swinging sweetgum ball.

Nature needs to put that remnant ornament away. The holidays are over.

Look. Look harder. There is more.

There is a lone leaf vibrating on its branch.

Three of its fallen friends chase each other across a crunchy carpet.

A small, solitary figure ambles in the distance.

Look. Look harder. There is more.

Whippy wisps of hair whisper across my gaze.

People perambulate past my perch.

Across the pond, tall grasses gyrate to a hypnotic beat only they can hear.

Their watery reflection reaches toward me.

Look. Look. There is more.

The pine treetops perform a synchronized sway, their backdrop a slow drift of cool cloud.

There is a ripple – a circular spread of energy.

Color pulses at an increasing rate, then steadies, a train travels behind the rhythmic screen of brush beyond.

A cold gust grabs me, icily insistent against my face.

Look. There is movement in this place.

written 2/11/23 while on the WPL Second Saturday micro-retreat