The one I recognize as me runs into the storm.
She has for as far back as I can remember.
What hypnotist’s spell was put on me and in what lifetime did I agree to this?
Daylight turns green casting a yellow hue over the earth under the weight of an accelerating sky.
As far back as I can remember.
I step onto the forested pathway to the rocky ridge as the wind picks up the hem of my shirt.
The woods are empty of humanity but mine and mine seems more a mass of surrendered nadis than the self with my name.
Around the climbing bend I feel it more than see it in the darkening light.
The hawk sits on a branch at eye level.
Streaks of bared wood reveal newly sharpened claws.
I don’t recognize the bird’s markings and make a note to look it up once home.
For now I determine to become its companion if it will have me, as we sit in wait for the tempest to rain down.
Yellow leaves fly sideways like sorcerer’s plates.
Wind blows the bird’s feathers as my hair whips my face and neck but we are unruffled.
And my feet begin to dance the way they do when the thunder crashes and the rain is a roar that does not yet touch earth sheltered beneath a thousand leafy branches.
I can’t stay still and bid the bird good day.
In my goofy way I start to laugh and feet that never run on pavement or plan to run at all are carrying me swiftly through the forest.
The squall starts to wane as I near home, soaked and satisfied but less so to see the sky move away.
It’s often this strange timing.
I’m back to the one who has this name, who has this hair, who does this job;
The one you know as me.
Until the thunder claps and the sky gets close and I am not that but nature remembered gone to find her lost tribe.