Catatonia

The air breathes in

Gathering

The scent of mowed grass

And freshly tilled earth

With the hoarded mugginess of countless nights

Wriggling against damp sheets

And craving the relief

Of rain.

The air dribbles and oozes

Lethargically

Leaking and depositing

Sultry beads of moisture

Onto my skin

And then

Stretching indolently one last time

It retires.

The reeds stand sentry

Erect and unmoving

Guarding the motionless pond

As its amber-glazed surface

Reflects the blue

Of the sky that states back

And idly wonders why

I’ve come.

The sky contemplates

Watching

As I bend over the ground

Staring intently

Before selecting a stone

Washed smooth and flat by years

Of water gently abrading its sides

In passing.

The stone sighs

Passively

Recalling the feeling

Of the cool caress of millennia

As they whittled away its being

While clouds progressed and stars died

And the stone remained enduringly

And waited.

I take my selection

Considering

The rock in my hand as I walk

Carefully over to the pond

Where I cock my hand back and

Project the stone over the water

Needing to do something

To break the stillness.