From Where I Lay

I lay flat on my belly, breathing slowly, quietly, so that no one might find me. Hiding my face in cupped hands against the carpet any time it comes too quickly. I can’t risk the dust ruffle swaying now that it has stilled. I now realize it was a mistake to roll onto my belly because I cannot shift over to my back. At least I can see out the window through the crack in the bedding and the wall. Birds sit on the line that buzzes day and night. A bright red cardinal with black-rimmed eyes stared coldly into the sky. Next to it is a blue jay, with its haughty crest, and mocking calls.

They both dart away as a squirrel comes down the line. It has a long frizzy tail and almost seems to glitch across the fine black line in space. The way it vacillates nearly instantaneously from one pose to another, somehow moving all the way across in this manner almost makes me laugh. Once it gets to the great wooden pole it swirls around and around all the way to the ground. Not that I can see it go, I see one maybe two go-rounds as it sinks out of sight. I have seen it go so many times I can practically count how many rounds it will take without even looking.

From where I lay I can see so much beauty. The boughs of an old pecan tree with silken clouds slung above like whipped cream. The massive power lines are strung across my view, with an ever-present low-frequency droning, slicing through the sky like a huge pastry cutter. With the flight of each tiny bird or scampering of each precious squirrel a new opportunity to renew my spirit, and clear my mind. My heart slows, returns to its normal march time. Eventually I drift off into a short restful nap. I may be pursued, and harassed, but no one can take my peace when I am focused on the view from where I lay.

K.B. Silver