the slightest sound

stay, i whisper

fingers touching feathers

yet i can feel them slipping away

into the unknown abyss

that is all space but my touch.

an hour of floor time each day

at the crack of dawn,

honouring the mother Gaia that roots us all.

the air is still, almost unnaturally so

and i feel as though the slightest breath

would disturb the divine order

of all things.

nothing moves, nothing is.

until.

she perches high above

out of reach

as all good things tend to do.

her feathers ruffle and the sound

causes a breeze

that causes a sound

that ruffles my hair.

i stay still.

come, i pray.

come closer, i want to see that keen glimmer in your eye

that pesky look i know you carry.

instead, she cooes.

and the word doesn’t do it justice.

a slight purr, a change in the vibrations around my ears

going round and round ricocheting off flesh

until it forms sound.

and it brings me back

to:

early mornings at my grandparents’ place, no one awake, sun filtering through blinds

it is a memory that causes feelings that causes

peace.

and so, i thank Gaia for her offering

as i make one of my own.