The Thumb

The rustle of thousands of blades of grass
Sing,
In unison,
An ode to the wind.
Last night’s raindrop
Drops into a shallow puddle
In which the barely opaque clouds reflect.
A single lonely tree
Hiding its needles behind its thin trunk
Stands triumphant atop this miniature mountain
And gazes downwards into oblivion.
Hordes of water droplets bleed their foamy blood
As they crash against rocks.
Which,
Given time,
Will crumble and fall into nonexistence.
These lonely bulwarks
Stand proud and tall
Guarding barren coves
From searching eyes.
In the distance
A great expanse of meadow
Scattered with vibrant flowers
Too minute to be seen from afar.
The reeds of a windless beach
Writhe in a breeze.
In the other direction,
The shoreline extends strait for miles--
Ants flitting in and out of vacation-rental anthills.
And between them,
Between isolation and community,
Silence and commotion,
Wilderness and civilization,
Lies an expanse of pure blue waters
Extending to the horizon--
Forever
And endless...