I am the wind that soars. I can lift up the leaves from the ground and together we can twirl and we spin and we dance the quickstep. I can be a soft and gentle breeze that blows dandelions across fields and teasingly brushes against your skin. I can carry the sound of a delicious melody to your ears and indulge you in beauty. I can tauntingly wave the fragrance of a meal under your nose and then dart away mischievously. I can sculpt the clouds above you and sketch masterpieces for you to gaze upon and puzzle the shape of. I can heave the oceans up towards the sky and let them come crashing down upon you. I can roar and tear down trees and wreak havoc where ever I go. I am powerful but I am generous. I spread the pollen of flowers amongst the paddocks. I spin the contraptions you build me and help you produce power. I am invisible but I am here. I whisper to you in the night as you sleep. You cannot see me but I can see you.
I am the rain that cleanses. I fall from the clouds and I bring life to what I touch. Each drop is small and insignificant but together they form a storm. I can gently descend from above and float down tickling the top of your head or I can plummet loudly with a splatter, making my presence known. On cold, lonely nights, I rhythmically beat upon your roof and sing you lullabies while you sleep. I refill the lakes, the dams, the rivers, the ditches. I make puddles for you to jump and splash in. I water the seeds that you have planted in your backyard. I nourish the lands and turn dry dust to rich soil eager to feed the saplings that starve. A timid touch is all it takes for the brown and dying plants to burst into vivid greenness and liveliness. I delicately wash away the dirt that cakes up over time and reveal new layers that haven’t seen the light in centuries. I create vitality and leave the crisp smell of freshness in my wake. I rejuvenate the world you live in and leave perfect droplets to race down your windows. You stand outside looking up in wonder as I shower upon you. Your hair is wet and tangled, your clothes are drenched through but you remain in position and shout with glee as the water tank in the distance steadily increases in level.
I am the tree that reaches. My branches take the form of witches’ fingers, knobbly and grasping and twisted. I fight for room to grow and I stretch for the stars never stopping. My leaves paint the floor beneath me as they fall from my grip. My roots search for unclaimed territory, constantly expanding and exploring the unknown beneath your feet. I provide boughs for birds to build upon and weave between. I provide the structure for a spider to lovingly craft their web from one limb to the next, one intricate strand at a time. I provide the oxygen for you to take your first breath. I provide the framework for the treehouses and rope swings of your youth. I provide the canvas for the initials and hearts of your teenage infatuations to be carved into. I provide the shade for you to sit and read under on the warm afternoons of adulthood. I provide the wood you will rest in when you return to me once more.
I am the purple glow at dusk. I bask the world with a radiance that transforms the greens of the land to lavender. I illuminate your features as you sit and look upon the grey rugged cliffs. Your hands trace the rough surface of the rock upon which you are perched and your eyes drift to the river that lays between your humble seat and the unpenetrable foilage of the other side. The river before you reflects the sky or perhaps, the sky reflects the river. It’s blue, it’s pink, it’s orange, yet, it is more for it is me. Shapes drift across the water, rippling in and out of existence creating your very own Rorschach test. It is quiet but so very loud. A splash in the distance as a fish leaps for joy or perhaps in fear. The bickering of birds as they try to get the last word of the night. Cicadas and crickets call into the evening searching for love, or at least their own form of it. You are quiet, though. You sit and absorb and think and imagine and remember. Your thoughts turn to those who may have sat in the very same place as you, thousands of lifetimes ago. Your thoughts turn to those who once sat with you in your lifetime. Your thoughts turn to those who will sit here in another thousand lifetimes. You fear being forgotten but you won’t be. Your mark will be left upon me long after you leave.
I will remember.
But will you remember me before you go?
For I am the infinite becoming finite,
I am the unforgettable becoming forgotten.
I am earth.
- Katrina Hayler
- Word Count: 877 words