A seed in hand

I wonder why the Hackberry hangs in shreds… 

A perfectly formed Hackberry leaf looks like a heart that’s been torn in two (and then melted).  I pick one of the small bark-colored berries, shaped like a cherry pit, and turning it in my hand the Hackberry rolls it’s eye at me while navigating the lifelines on my palm like a silver ball in a handheld maze.  Not too different from Tai Chi or spontaneous meditation, rolling myself around the circuitry of the world’s electromagnetic fields to drop myself like a silver seed into the Earth’s core.  

A train screeches past us, the trucks can’t be pulled along very far without sending out timely screeches… agonizingly familiar, I didn’t realize until now that my body is a train.  I’ve been thinking about the tracks ahead for the past few days, and how many times I’ve taken the same detours before realizing that I’m the one who paves the roads, I am the pioneer.  

The sweat rolls down the center of my back, the Hackberry rolls its eyes in my pocket, the train rolls reluctantly down the track, and my spirit rolls along the lines on God’s palm, fingering those grooves until I fall into the hole that bought me.

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