Ironically, it is right around thanksgiving when the wild turkeys make their rounds, strutting around like they own the place. All things considered, it isn’t entirely unreasonable.

A flock of females waltz by, elegant even in their subdued colors, leisurely going from one yard to the next. They care not for the occasional car waiting as some dozen of them mosey across the road, one deliberate step after another. The turkeys chatter amongst themselves, uncannily like older ladies discussing the neighborhood gossip.

They don’t take much interest as a confident, puffed up male approaches, his feathered fan open behind him. He loiters nearby as they gossip, gobbling all the while.

You’re beautiful, do you know? Your face turns toward the sun It seems to greet you

You smile And the earth smiles back

Is it out of love or fear? I don’t think you will ever know Adoration twists just as easily as anything

Heat bites at you with its sharp, sharp fangs The sun’s smile becomes a snarl Does your own smile falter? Does the fear of the world stifle your beauty? I think it is the source of it

They burn you on the darkest night Flames so high they could touch the sun that scorned you Loved you then left you But they choke on the plumes of smoke

You’re beautiful But one touch could kill And it does so with a smile

Rylee skips rocks across the brown water while Ravi watches from a tall tree. She bounces one five times and Ravi snorts.

“Only five? I could beat you easily,” he says. “Then get your ass down here,” she replies. “I would but…” Ravi looks around the empty creek and smiles. “Come up here, come see.”

Rylee skips her last good rock across the water and turns to him, rolling her eyes and walking toward him.

“You’re like… seven feet in the air. How can I get up there?” She asks, smiling up at him.

“Crawl, girl.” “Climb, you mean.”

Rylee tries. But with short legs, reaching and grabbing stuff from up high is pretty hard. Ravi starts laughing, a hand on his stomach as Rylee straddles the branch and sits up, her long golden brown hair in her face.

“Asshole,” she murmurs, blowing the hair from her eyes and reaching for the next branch, which is closer than the last.

“Need some help?” He asks, grinning. “Oh nooo. Does it look like I need help?” “Ahhh, a little.”

Rylee sneers at Ravi as she reaches for another branch, coming up close to him. Reaching for the next, she plops down, almost slipping and laughs at herself.

“Get down here, lazy,” she says. “How come I’m doing all the work?”

He smiles and drops down beside her, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. She smiles and leans into him as he brushes a hand through her hair.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” he whispers. “I wish your dad was here to see you now.”

“He would love to know you’re here with me,” Rylee whispers, smiling sadly.

Ravi kisses her forehead again and hugs her tight as they watch the sun set from the tree, the twin bridges covering them, the roar of traffic filling their ears.

Rylee smiles every time a truck goes “thunka, thumpa, thunk” over the bridges and disappears as another roars across, going seventy-five on the highway.

“I love you,” she whispers to Ravi, closing her eyes with her head resting against his shoulder in the fading light.

Rewriting old memories, starting something new with the ruins. She’s finally happy. This might be it.

“I love you too.”

Rylee skips rocks across the brown water while Ravi watches from a tall tree. She bounces one five times and Ravi snorts.

“Only five? I could beat you easily,” he says. “Then get your ass down here,” she replies. “I would but…” Ravi looks around the empty creek and smiles. “Come up here, come see.”

Rylee skips her last good rock across the water and turns to him, rolling her eyes and walking toward him.

“You’re like… seven feet in the air. How can I get up there?” She asks, smiling up at him.

“Crawl, girl.” “Climb, you mean.”

Rylee tries. But with short legs, reaching and grabbing stuff from up high is pretty hard. Ravi starts laughing, a hand on his stomach as Rylee straddles the branch and sits up, her long hair in her face.

“Asshole,” she murmurs, blowing the hair from her eyes and reaching for the next branch, which is closer than the last.

“Haha, Rylee. Need some help?” “Oh nooo. Does it look like I need help?” “Ahhh, a little.”

Rylee sneers at Ravi as she reaches for another branch, coming up close to him. Reaching for the next, she plops down, almost slipping and laughs at herself.

“Get down here lazy,” she says. “How come I’m doing all the work?”

He smiles and drops down beside her, pulling her close and kissing her forehead. She smiles and leans into him as he brushes a hand through her hair.

“I’m glad you brought me here,” he whispers. “I wish your dad was here to see you now.”

“He would love to know you’re here with me,” Rylee whispers, smiling sadly.

Ravi kisses her forehead again and hugs her tight as they watch the sun set from the tree, the twin bridges covering them, the roar of traffic filling their ears.

Rylee smiles every time a truck goes thunka, thumpa, thunk over the bridges and disappears as another roars across, going seventy-five.

“I love you,” she whispers to Ravi, closing her eyes with her head resting against his shoulder in the fading light.

A soft breeze blows. A beautiful dandelion dances in the wind. It beckons me to come closer. As I pick it up, I notice how optimistic and full of life it is. As I blow on the seeds, they scatter through the air as gracefully as figure skaters on ice. I sigh as I am filled with great joy and relaxation. It’s now time to go home.

The cobra proves coward The dragon drab and persnickety (work? what’s that?) And both just want to sleep.

But seems the scaled one with gratitude for kindness (and a true beating heart that endured kibble) And who magically grew fur Should have place before Made in China

I am night. The day is lime coleus and painted Japanese fern, your beloved Thai basil, and those ratty begonias you picked up in the grocery store. The day is bright and hot. Everyone and everything moves fast. The day is speed. People think I’m slow. What I am is relentless. I eat your coleuses in lime, coral pink, and deep burgundy frills. I eat your fern painted and otherwise. Basils are my favorite but this you know. I am hunger. The night is alway hungry. You day runners try to stop me with plates of salt, shallow saucers of beer. The day runs around trying to tame nature. The day wants to but us in pots, train us on trellises. The day wants perfect. The day wants tidy. I laugh. I laugh as I eat your delicious purple basil. I slime across your orderly rows. My glittering mucus silver as moonlight tinsels your intentions. The glint of the sun on my trails criss crossing spells your defeat. No worries I’ll leave you those ratty begonias.

She shook with anticipation eager to pounce on the fresh cut lawn. Scratching at the door sending Morse code commands for “please open”. Bolting out the door all you could see was a white cloud streak zooming past. She danced in the grass so happily you could see her smile from a mile away. Frolicking in the flowers then suddenly stopping to bask in the sun light. Then a butterfly caught her eye and she began to skip along following the fluttery path. Her ears bouncing will every step she took and her eyes glistened in the light. She tumbled and rolled all over kicking up cuttings and clippings into the air. I love how she demanded an audience amongst the others as she billowed once more before returning inside slightly green grinning with glee.

The Wind is sleeping.

The forest is quiet, and the Wind is soft. There’s a hush amongst the leaves, not a single deer heard trotting by. Now, what makes a forest so quiet, yet so loud? Is it the overwhelming abundance of trees, or the river that carries many? Perhaps it is the Wind that tells the trees to quiet, and to tell the leaves to stop flying.

The Wind takes form in many ways, it’s as simple as that. The Wind uses its arms to push over the dirt and the piled leaves. The Wind uses its legs to run through fields and rustle the grass beneath its feet. And maybe it’s the Wind that gets its hair caught in the branches on the way, provoking their swinging and rustling.

Does the Wind have eyes? Well, the real question is: Why wouldn’t it? The Wind chooses its own path, and in the process it is as loud or as quiet as it dares to be. When the Wind whispers the animals smile, the trees wave back, and the river hums. When the Wind screams the animals retreat, the trees start arguing, and the river starts to run.

And when the Wind sleeps, the humans find the forest. And the Wind lets them inside, because it would be a shame not to share such beauty. For the Wind knows the power of its voice and the strength of its limbs.

The Wind is kind, it speaks to souls and sees itself in memories. The Wind carries smells in its arms and rustles hair with its fingers. The wind is wild, but it is calm.

Let the Wind sleep, so that when it awakes, it may run through a new forest and play amongst the river.

The night is warm And pleasant The stars are shining The sky is a deep blue The cliff I’m standing near Is framed beautifully It’s painful really Just how beautiful The evening is The moon is full And iridescent Glowing in the dark blue sky The breeze is just the right kind Where it blows your hair Just out of your face It seems to hold your hand And whisper in your ear Sweet nothings As if that’s what you wanted to hear It holds you close And cups your face In its cool, silky hands And gently Ever so gently Says, “It’s ok.” And then it is You jump

I know this is the writing prompt, but I didn’t really want to do the poem prompt… 😂