Life is breathing. The breath is the depth, we breathe. Breathing. Rain is like breath and swells in the clouds, then, falls to earth, falling. Falling after rain, water is breathing with the air and evaporates back up to the clouds, again, breathing with the clouds. Our clouds are like the lungs, expanding and contracting. Clouds blow away to thin air.
Clouds, clouds blow and blowing, blow wind and keep shifting, shifting to air and blue sky. The Sun shining through the blue sky of the air on a blue sunny day, shining. We breathe the breath of a blue sunny day and leaves blow along with light wind. Clean cold air is the air we breath on an autumn, winter's day. You walk along dreaming of better times and a way forward. Quietly, thinking, feeling the silence. People once could be heard laughing, children playing, dogs barking and cats were on the street to talk to. Now silence, like the quiet of a forest with only the birds, the sound of birds, only. Seers, mystics, the odd jogger, crazy people wandering, a world of silence like public holidays, everyday or the suburbs in town. Birds, chattering, talking, fantails warning you of the danger, native birds singing their song. We sit and wait like waiting for the rain to stop, to breathe again. Breathing, deep breaths and silence, we breathe. Why did the end of the world have to feel so silent and like a B grade movie? Ends always meant the beginning of something else. The beginning of time started at the end of the world. Couldn't we read the clouds? Spiralling, travelling on an axis, did the world travel its usual course? An elliptical circle, spirals but there is no certainty we move and do not just suffer an illusion. The stars appear to move around the sky at night and constellations move or appear smaller or larger, an illusion of the moon, the mirage or the sunset. You wonder with time if time moves forward. Sometimes time receding would make more sense. If you tried to explain dinosaurs coming sometime after human beings in the general spacetime calendar of the universe, would it make sense at all? One may as well put a stick in the ground and watch the Sun. Sundials and birds seem the same. All we had to do to save the world was plant more trees. Trees blowing in the wind so we can breathe. We breathe and birds sing.
They are the leaves on the trees, we breathe. We breathe the breath for the trees breathe in, what we breathe out. Breathing in and out, we breathe. Air. Air and clouds. Clouds, breathing. Breathing clouds. Billowing the clouds breathe. Breathing.
Oh, Chloris my flower maid and the wind. Windy days and the sea. Air and billowing, billowing air. Breathing and pollen are some peoples friend. Oh, pollen, oh pollen my maid. Chloris was the friend of flowers. Zephyr and the west wind blow. We called her Flora. The wife of the west wind, blew. Bees agreed and they blow along on a summery west breeze sort of day. Followed by rain, cool breezes blow. The flowers are best picked after summer rain. Rain oh flower oh flower my maid. Zephyr, Zephyr, the west, wind, blow, gentle breezes, to your maid. Bees were forest bees and welcome with honey. Zephyrus, the west wind blew. Sea and the flowers, we breathe.
We are breath and breathe, oxygen. The trees absorb our carbon dioxide, breathing. Breathing inwardly and outwardly, we meditate on our future, breathing. Our future is our breath. Trees know this and breathe. Absorbing carbon dioxide and water, the trees breathe for us and the air is our very oxygen, they release. Birds sing about the air in the trees, using its whistle, the air that is. Oh, fresh air and the breath, breathing. Breathing in and out with the trees, we are still breathing and need the very breath. Oxygen, oh air.
By Nicole Page-Smith