Half an hour

Walking. A humid morning. Ugly trash along the roadside mingled with the friendly sound of crickets. My mental state is a similar contrast. They're cutting trees and building on both sides of the road. A still sleeping festival. I talk to the mighty oaks along the roadside. One drops an acorn in response. I love, I say. The solar plexus. The place in the center from which it radiates. I remember shining forth like a lighthouse. And I will again.