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The Small Things

 The Small things Sitting, feeling the breeze swirling around, lifting the strands of hair in front of my eyes, Eyes lifted, seeing and yet, not feeling the heat mixed into the cooler air, seemingly disturbing the humid air around the woodland that blanketed everything,  only small insects and birds daring to emerge. "The forest must be really hard to be in at the moment" I thought, catching the  line of a plane heading for warmer and sunnier places, passengers dreaming of the delicious food, cocktails and the white, sandy beaches stretching far into the hazy horizon. Still, the sound of the beetles and, there... a small mouse flitting across, under the leaves ... the scope of their world was just the leaves, plants and trees their hazy beach, some up turned soil their cocktails, a small twinkling dewdrop on the end of a leaf
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Escaping

 escape The letter arrived this morning, telling me my fate "...report to ...." Hanging on every day, to find ways to avoid that destructive world, confused inside, hating the feeling of cowardice, but also feeling right not to want to "join up" to fight who ? My friend Pule ? My fellow students ? why ? They are me and I am them.  Human, equal, equally fighting for their lives as they should be not as they are  the beige or blue shapes on, in or alongside the trucks as they cause mayhem, crushing lives, destroying lives,  bringing the world down around them Grab the thread of a chance, and a week later, Im in a car off to the airport then in a plane a ferry a bus a taxi "get some sleep and lets catch up in the morning" a whole new world but my world was back there, the mountains, the crashing waves, pushing the bodies back to the beach feeling the southern sun on my face, shoulders thats my world and yet now, no longer escaped but now imprisoned in my mind...
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Shrug

Shrug That day I walked from my lovely home, along the small roads, onto the wide expanses of fields, just tilled, birds wheeling across the sky, hunting for food in between the clods of earth dipping, diving, down, deep into the soil finding insects, worms and left behind seeds crowing about their finds as I wandered along the verge, stomping down nettles and weeds, just out of control plants that the plough can't reach, and that lets walkers traipse alongside the birds, the deer and the swirling wind I look back at the crow nearest, and it looks back and shrugs nonchalant observing, considering, head turns away, and back, and lets out a 'caw' and lifts off the ground, in a hop landing a few feet further away,  and continues
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