Nature Memoir IX

    This now, this sky, it is empty. No plume, no white billows, and nothing besides one contrail. I tis a tiny and remote lonely thing to slice the atmosphere with winged blades. When you observe it and the infinite blue around it, you would be sure you're staring into a still image of frozen tropical lagoons. Oh, how I wish I could be kept more company beyond a single platinum disk that is the sun. But it is a bittersweet thing to see. Truly unobstructed light for all visible ground to feel. Then a bird flies. It does not flap. It is adrift tilting to and fro much like a tightrope walker of the sky. The grass too drifts but in jittered and tiny violent motions. Look closer. You can see their textures. Much softer. Smooth.