It’s blustery, hot outside.
The sun, still awake and full of boiling life.
It’s seven thirty, and still it feels like the three o’clock rays are out.
I lay, sideways on a bench, on my tiny patio. My mini garden oasis.
I can’t help but watch the great tree, in front of me (what is it?) releasing its seedlings with the hot wind.
I wonder where those tiny seeds will rest (most are now layering the inside of my planters).
Perhaps, one will make its way into a field full of nothingness.
Then as the skies rain down, for what seems an eternity, it will take root.
Maybe, in the lifeless land it will sprout into an infant no name tree.
The hot sun I feel on my legs, will be the same sun on the pinnate leaves.
It will grow, somewhere, somehow in the same rain or shine sensations that I feel.
And, I will attempt a sandcastle, picking the seedlings out of my moat.