I’m swimming in earth and can’t move. The trees and grass are overpoweringly green, the stones in the ground golden and blue, depending on where the sun is in the sky. In this noonday light, my skin looks more radiant than it really is, and my cheeks are warmer than in the average given moment.
I am confused, like some roots that unexpectedly exit the ground, assume they will become a tree, then become increasingly bewildered as they only form into what is known as a lump, as a sore thumb.
God, get me out of here.
A golden-crowned kinglet hops over, pecking the earth as it goes; every leaf or root with a meal, it kisses. I can move now, and step closer.
It does not run; it even comes closer, as if I have something to offer. Really, I have nothing but admiration and awe, to observe how this sphere of feathers and flight moves alongside me, and how easily it flies, yet not fleeing from me.
Do I? I do. I reach in order to tentatively touch, and with the back of my index finger, stroke the down between its wings. I have done nothing, yet everything, and I am happy.
I eventually leave, as is necessary, but I am still in the park in my mind.
It was not wrong to reach out, nor was it reproachable to touch a willing creature, but do others think the same? Do they know what I’ve seen? As far as I could tell, the bird was well, and could not have harmed me, nor I it.
Oh, how I long for things to be right and to be won.