Out of the driveway now I shuffle my feet as I walk down the road.
Butterflies and crickets awakened by an unexpected shower of pebbles, gravel,
and rounded glass shards, do their best to find dancing partners for a midair tango.

  Theres a hollow exhaling down the road behind me.
Its a car. Just passed the first bridge, heading for the second.
Louder the second time, higher pitch, less hollow, with a resonance, a howl.

  I move over, off the side of the road to the grass and into the weeds.
Glancing back to make sure the driver�s awake, aware that I�m here.
On its passing I�m caught in its swirling wake of dust and loose grass.

  Turning my back helps a bit, it passes, and I move on. Back onto the shoulder.
Truth is, that unexpected breeze felt good. The sun�d been abusing me since I left
the driveway, but I needed my jacket and jeans, so I suppose I asked for it.

Preparing for half the journey maybe sound absurd, but I�m not yet halfway there.

  Coming off the side onto the roto-tilled path, pools of clouded water litter the route.
Tadpoles thrash in their shrinking ponds, unaware of their mother�s mistake.
I weave through them, not disturbing, just observing, on my way to the markers.

  Trees, withered, bent, collapse naively into a waystation, a Torii.
Beyond . . . a sacred place. A place where many may tread, speak, or listen. But where few inhale.
I have. I�ve listened to every sound, every whisper, every murmur.

  The accidental brushing of the trees, the bustling stream communing with the rocks.
Birds; bards, reciting their tonal poems. The humming of the swarming insects,
the wind caressing my cheek with its gentle hand, wafting me breezes of hidden berries.

  I�ve taken a deep breath of the rebounding sun, felt its pulse, its rolling warmth.
Holding my breath, engulfed and free, voluntarily depriving myself of anything else but
the moment. Asphyxiation by Eden incarnate, is it so bad? I exhale. Now the questions call.