Gone is the worm, that tunnel body. Gone is the mouth
That loved leaves and tomatoes.
Gone are the innumerable feet.
He is beautiful now, and shivers into the air
As if he has always know how,
Who crawled and crawled, all summer,.
He has wide wings, with a flare at the bottom.
The moon excites him. The heat of the night excites him.
But, where did the dance come from?
Surely not out of a simple winter’s sleep.
Surely it’s more than ambition, this new architecture?
What could it be, that does it?
Let me look closer, and a long time, the next time
I see green-blooded worm crawling and curling
Hot day after hot day
Among the leaves and the smooth, proud tomatoes.
We have had a long, hot summer; record breaking in fact. That relentless heat, for which there seems no purpose, has been accompanied with a profusion of garden spiders around our home. Throughout the summer they have grown enormous. I mark my days by observing their webs, each time grown slightly larger in proportion to their bodies, and wonder how it is they “know” to build their webs. Where did this knowledge come from? I also wonder where will the spiders go to when fall finally breaks the wall of heat and humidity? Maybe the from and to location is the same. Spiders and knowledge, moths and tomatoes, humans and mice – in the watching and listening the source and our future unite and we can but dance in wonder.
Where does life come from and where are we going? Our breath unites us, no matter if we know the answer of source and future.