What I need on one of my bookshelves is
a slender, rejoicing figure no more than three inches tall, bronze in
color, perhaps, although another cast or shading might do as well,
with feet planted in such a way as to suggest a high mountain scene,
ecstasy, an approaching thunderstorm, magic, motion, male at a
glance, female in dance, a butterfly’s pose, a winter wind’s
pause, a cool face in the mirror of a pond. And all of this because I
moved some books around.
One way to explain the liquid sunshine
drenching the street in a crystalline shower of near cloudless rain,
is that life is so helplessly and joyfully abundant, she weeps. And of course there
are other ways, but all send their love, just the same.
Last night’s rain was a brief round
of applause — a tenth of an inch, just enough to wash away the
rainbow chalk mark games the neighbor kids made. And so when they
come home from school today, they’ll have a fresh blank canvas to
write on. Much like the sky this morning, already filled with the
script of joyous birds.