i love those quiet summer evenings in the hills

the din of cicadas punctuated by the angle of the wind bouncing off my ears

my shadow the longest i’ve seen it today

the sky the bluest i’ve seen it this year

and i wonder what cracks me open

is it the silence framed by the busyness of the scurrying ants below my feet

is it trust in knowing the redwoods will be here tomorrow

or that i know i’m the only one up here

here! i yell, here, here, here

like there was nowhere else to be

here contained in where

like obviously that’s how language works

but not so clear when clarity plays tag everyday

days blend together in there

simplicity, in their duplicities

the rocks never moving save for once every couple million years

and when i’m here 

i feel slowness like those rocks

no need to move no need to scurry no need to set any suns in stone

just here

and in that there is opening

there is choosing

there is now

in that there are worlds to be

simply 

to be