Powdered dust hangs over the field as a delivery truck leaves. Sumac leaves have turned blood red beneath the canopy of oak trees. The grass is getting shorter but remains as thick as it has ever been. Still, there are cracks in the Earth, out in the pasture, that most cannot see.
The rumbling that perhaps comes from the drying earth is not as noticeable right now. It is a mild day but still seems warm for this time of year here. The cool nights and warm days remind me more of my time spent in the desert than all the years combined living in north Texas. Perhaps we should pay more attention to the expanding yucca and cactus than the mouths of those who tend to deny change, even when it is all around them.
Somewhere along that 26,000 or 27,000 year axial wobble that changes the tilt of the planet, I sit in time. Even sitting still I am moving, and just as the leaves on those sumacs will fall, so too will we annually shed certain aspects of our cellular selves. In this way, we are never the same individuals as we once were.
It can be difficult to see beyond mortal years, when there are so few of them to live compared to the scale of some planetary existence. I suspect many can't remember what they had for dinner three days ago, let alone what stars look like beyond street lights, beyond rural security lights, beyond electricity.
Some say at this rate, in forty years New Orleans and Miami will be underwater. Sometimes it is difficult for me to imagine, even though I am no stranger to biblical tales. Floods come in many forms; I wonder how many don't include water.