I’m reclaining against a tree watching the world try to mometery revive itself out of this winter. I’m half gazing at the scrubby grass that has, somehow, managed to hang on this long. And out of the haze a spec is dottering along. It reminds me of of old movies where single engine prop planes would, somehow, run out of fuel and be buffeted around. They always shoot up a little and back down. The dottering spec is growing larger now. It’s clearly red against the pastel sky.
An :agitated (how so, describe): ladybug lands on my kneed. She spins–dancing like a Sufi in meditation. I’m grinning and boping my head to her rhythm. Presently I notice that she is starring at me. I shake my head, I had no idea when she stopped meditating. I blink and try to drop back into the social contract. I tilt my head… She gets impatient and starts beating her wing covers. I’m sorry that it takes me so long to adjust. I’m sorry that I get swept away in romantic notions and daydreams.
“Oh. Hey. I like watching you dance. Wonderful day, isn’t it?