The sun smiles,
forcefully examining the bitterness of the leaves
that have become
crushed under the weight
of the eve’s rainfall.
I look on,
curiously wondering
why the sun seems to give light,
to even the most shattering
displays of nature’s fury.
I am broken, I think.
The sun has never fixed me.
Outside the drops of rain evaporate steadily.
Dew, which once subsided in even the most porous
of surfaces
has all but disappeared,
confronted  instead
by a warmth as steady
as the sun is iridescent.
You are an observer, I say.
Callous, cold, and unfeeling.
On the ground two squirrels fight playfully.
An acorn has fallen between the two,
and with quizzical wonderment
I watch as a
stalled fury erupts
into a courtship like dance
of dominator
versus
domineered.
Atleast they have each other, I muse.
Who do you have?
The last remnants of darkness have lifted
and the birds respond with a steady hum.
In their song I hear them say,
serenity, serenity:
this is the world.
I turn my head,
And dropp my gaze
downward.
Serenity, serenity,
Is not the world’s way.
The sun rises fully,
I sit on the ground.
Copyright (c)      David DeSantis