I am married to this earth, this field, this silence, even as the ocean offers itself.
I walk it with my dog on his leash pulling restlessly ahead, biting at the frenzy scent trail he knows exists in the air.
The woods beyond are gray. So is the sky.
I hear— the echo of a trickling brook. My dog, inhales— the last traces of dying greens, the odors of tantalizing blues yielding to the coming season.
The horizon reels away until my eyes can no longer take it in and the sky matches the coming night— contains itself in the field, in every thing.
Drops of rain splash and fall off my nose onto my tongue. The taste is bittersweet. The scent, silences my dog’s barking with the promise of petrichor.
The hidden brook silently turning breathes in the renourishment— the earth, the field, praise the distant blessing of a dying Hurricane Debby bequeathing its last bits for this life.
In my *******, I feel the grace of an unseen promise. In the walk back home, I am aware that each foot thud is full of mud— the marriage of ocean and land.