“And then my heart with pleasure fills
and dances with the daffodils” — William Wordsworth
I walked into nature today,
not the nature I know,
although the cicadas sound similar,
if less insistently symphonic
then still cymbalic.
Nature’s static
crackled across the
antennae of trees;
broken phrases punctuated
by beautiful words.
Words like Wordsworth’s
lonely, long-white clouds
and blissful solitude,
flooding in with the tide
through the mangroves.
Those trees strike a note:
ecosystem engineers
which survive daily change
orchestrated by cosmic force
(and the cicadas)
I came no closer to knowing
the secret of life.
But, perhaps I came closer
to life.
Maybe that’s the secret?