On the sat view of his area, little white dots scattered out at almost even intervals, the seeds of an afternoon thunderstorm. Humidity and heat push it's way upward into the cool heights so fast that it seemed as if he was watching a time lapse of the event, the breeze died and the Kestrel had to flap its wings to keep it's position, giving lucky a little jolt. "Strange, how long has that bird been there?" the bird hovered - it's body moving - and head staying still, keeping an eye on Lucky... The bird gave up, soared down just across the top of the corn field going out of sight, in search of elevation somewhere out on that flat treeless landscape, he stared on as if he could still see it. The cloud was still growing at a rapid pace, the breeze was dead, temperature: one hundred five, the overlay magically over each hog showing is approximate position in the field, lucky took a swig out of his beat up plastic water bottle, the shiny thermos glaring in the sun, sealed his bag of chips. lucky relaxed and systematically crept his view outward to the peripheral, all the sound, movement, heat, humidity, odors, and sub-aural vibrations occurring in real-time; no past, no future, no plan for the next moment, no longing for the past, every sense was engaged in the flow, filling up his briefly empty mind with the minutia of now.
No comments:
Post a Comment