L'aura del Campo

I've neglected dear L'aura...

...I've neglected my writing as well.

Something I wrote to the prompt: "No one has ever loved me as I have them". I strayed from the original idea but who cares. Written in a workshop in 20 minutes and lightly edited since.

The scarecrow (tentative tile)

I 'm rooted to the earth. Toes clinging to the damp worm-churned muck. I never travel. The seasons come visit me as I can't go to them. Constant friends? I have none. They come. They go.

In late winter the grand-children of last summer's worms wiggle between my feet. They tickle the tulips too. Daffodils just burst with laughter.

I stretch my arms after as if after a nap as lengthening days warm my skin. Rays waken the by-ways of root and stem. An azalea flames red and I turn green with envy.

Then tulips wilt in the heat, apples scattering petals at my feet. Forget-me-nots sing the blues in my shadows as dandelions float by whispering of thirst and far off oases. Those that get lost in my hair soon wither.

No one stays to greet the sun at its zenith. When it rains again new baby worms find my feet and nip my toes. I spread my arms to grey skies as if to pray as I provide sanctuary and succor as birdsong dwindles and nests empty. My finger tips soon grow tired and jaundiced. I paint my nails as a fleeting gesture before they fall off. Then everyone leaves and I feel frosted.

During this season of loss snowflakes caress me as I weep and shake to the wind that whispers, "sleep, sleep, sleep". Still I know that all will be gone before next I wake.

© Kåre Enga [170b.6] 5.october 2013.

Any thoughts?

73,250