Fill My Sails

Rocking to and fro in a canvas cocoon, envious of infants, of little dumplings who are cradled effortlessly, not having to dig their fingers into the soft earth and push to sway as I am.

Light filtered through the oak suspended above my body dances across my folded eyelids, porous patterns of golden color swaying, back and forth, back and forth, drawing geometric arrangements in the white cloth that carries the weight that holds my soul.

Just look above to realize that it never stops moving, that nothing is to remain still in the stillness. The leaves shake against the wind, the flies whirl restlessly among the spindly branches and the clouds continue to move in the endless blue sky, ever so slowly.

As the breeze playfully readjusts the stray hairs outlining my face I recall the mantra my uncle once told me: father of the four winds, fill my sails through the journey of life

Feel free father; abound, lavish, suck and spit, stroke, pull and shake them; feel free.