A perfect late summers morning,
The air as clear as a bowl of chill water
Filled by a mountain stream.
I take a deep slow breath, holding the air in
Until my lungs begin to hurt, to feel bruised and pummelled.
A long hot month of summer influenza
Has made my whole body ache for the joy of living,
The abundance of art, and simply meeting
With friends and strangers in the scrummage of local streets.
I look up at a dazzling sky,
Counting small clouds scudding like miracle children
On crystal skateboards across the morning blue.
Then - on the 8 `o clock news - today is 9/11 -
And I feel ice cold - empty - bereft of meaning.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
9th. September 2023.
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