Scuba diving in thin desert air, silent like ears underwater, with soft channels in clay earth and ancient sea creatures. I watched as a boulder fell, loudly greeting the sloping cliff below, but I heard it as though through a felted tube or plexiglass. Yet another experience of reality absorbed into my bare feet through fine dust and scrubby plants, while muted shutters clicked and children shrieked - amazed by nature’s playground, comparing it to tiny silver screens.
I’m 24 years old.
Water-worn layers of life before this one,
Exposed by wear of air and sea,
Rain and time.
I feel like a balloon in a parade of intruders.
Smiling primary colors an invasive contrast to the endlessly patient ocean floor of brown and gray.
Thank you for having me.
The planet doesn’t care for my apology. She knows well the remorse we will all feel as she draws her life force slowly towards her center and away from (us) the surface. We weren’t ready for it so in our misuse she sighs quietly and prepares to withdraw. I don’t blame her. Maybe some other time, some other humans being, or something else entirely. Why do we - the creatures best equipped to understand how precious…
The dying light and the lavender sky feel the bittersweetness in my bones.
We only have one Earth. She holds me.
I love her more deeply than I have anything in my life.