I feel a cool draft blow over my hammock before realizing the temperature is dropping. It feels like someone left the back door open and all the AC is escaping. This summer has been baffling, but I’ll take it.
Cicadas are sounding off like an emergency broadcast system test. They are especially clamorous tonight. I can’t imagine how a creature so small in stature can create that magnitude of vibration. It’s manufactured by membranes on the belly, which means they were fashioned with a built-in set of strings. This reminds me of a theory I once heard about Lucifer, and how it has been suggested that he was also created with instruments for organs. I guess he wasn’t initially designed for destruction. He was first wrought for worship like the rest of us.
I’m thinking of my own set of pipes and wondering when. Have you ever missed your own voice? But first, I must learn how to breathe. Then, how to form words. And then, in time, how to whistle those words with fluted breaths into melodies. It is a process, I suppose. I pray it all returns to me.
“Come back to me, Song. Like a new season, I’ll welcome you right in.”
There’s still a slight breeze blowing thru the sunflower leaves. It looks like their underarms are being tickled, as their heads bobs and sway. There is air twirling through there; there is air twirling through me. I must always begin and end, here, in the garden. It is my Eden. It’s where God started with us and honestly, it’s where the most subtle of miracles happen.