Light at the End of the Tunnel

Air so thick I can cut it with a knife

and then watch slabs fall with pudding-like thuds

at my feet onto the slimy grasses. 

I can wipe the wet mist from my face

as if I had been crying “repentlessly”. 

Where do the birds hide their naked fledglings? 

Where do the bees conceal themselves for days? 

The tree frogs and the spadefoots sing for hours, 

a festival of Huge and Small Leap Day. 

The slow turtles explore cool wet pavement

naïve to the jeopardy that awaits. 

And most dangerous of all woodland life,

the mosquitoes sing in high pitched, fated

annoyance everywhere that warm breath flows.

Deep emerald shade hides the small mammals
Frozen and watchful, certain they're unseen.
There is a pulsing; can nature find breath?
At night the breeze does not rise to cool us.
In the day the sun bravely scatters bright
Patches that have contrast to catch the eye,
But fail to pierce the hard and deep shadows
Beneath the green canopy of large, still leaves
That cluster in hushed anticipation
Reminding me to venture quietly
As I feel I'm alien in my land.

I shall sit until air kisses my face
and the trees wave green flags and dance again.