Itinerant (Daily Planet email #945)

Like a rising star between fading background and foreground cirrus, we sing to echo and wait for the voice from the back of the cave. We watch the golden light (whose embers?) and follow the hurried ash, spiriting the sky, in flock against the downcast flicker. The air, fraught and fractious, seemingly teeming with tension and intention, issues her impassive challenge for us to cross the threshold and enter — a day.

Maybe there is a tree beyond the trees, in a grove in the grey across the river. It is this tree, above all, that serves as sanctuary. There is no softness to its roots. There are no snakes on its certain branches. It gives me shade and support and fruit and a house and a boat, if I needed. But what can I give it in return? The tree asks that I wait awhile so it can show me. I decline, but do my best to assure the tree that I’ll return.

No longer equipped for dancing, my mind carries a body along the ridge, a space between in space above. A full and frantic south wind tousles the horizon while the dogs howl, quite outside of time. Nearby drums, in concert with the coarsely beaded curtain of insects, herded in pointillist prayer. Like a fading star in latticed foreground and background static, we shout our doubt and wait for the voice from the front of the cave.