WATER & EARTH

New Paragraph

All is lost,

you say it's as certain as the brittle bones of your grandmother

you'd swear by them

Recall

the dawn is certain

you certainly stepped down the stairs in the early hours

and crept into the kitchen

the kitchen's who's veils are never drawn

and people have mentioned that this is an invitation for a serial killer

You grind coffee beans

and marvel at how fine, how like the earth

like flesh the grounds are

And every single morning you follow this moment by

filling the iron kettle with water,

setting it onto the gas stove to boil

and seating yourself by the same window to marvel at the black sky

turning blue

And every single morning you say out loud

breaking the silence with "this is a different blue"

and turning your head to stare at the pile of oils and acrylics

exasperated

In awe.

When the water begins to boil

its rolling a wave

you pour the hot water atop the fine grounds

and watch drops drip into the carafe

each drip clenching earth in its fingers

It smells like home and a bit like a bonfire.

And again, like every morning, you sip silently

on this water-earth concoction as the sky peels away new shades of blue

In awe, alongside the birds that celebrate the new hues with songs.

Songs that sound new to you.

And then, not all mornings, but what you consider special mornings

a hummingbird comes to visit

and you gasp

Because you can't fathom that the hand that drew you up,

the hues of blue,

created the beans you crushed

the water you drank, the trunks of elephants

and this tiny floating fantastical beast that dances in your suburban window

In your window.

All is not lost.

This is the place of songbirds, bees and unimagined colour.