I dance, very slowly, in the sun.
There are bees in the lavender,
and probably tiny spiders underfoot,
under all this thick, soft clover.
And I think that where no cruelty is involved,
no fear, anger, or guilt—
or even awareness—
then, when a tiny beastie goes
from a buzzing crawling busy life
to mud,
perhaps a sweet twinkle of energy is released,
equivalent to the brief exquisite scent
of a tiny flower close to the ground,
hidden from view.
And so I dance, probably
releasing many twinkles underfoot.
And I feel lovely vibrations
from the air, the sun, the earth, the trees
the clouds, the tangy seaweed-breeze.
Is this what it means to share the earth?
I am seaweed, I am cloud, I am giant bird—
I am tendril vines, I am miniscule flower bursting with scent—
I am reverent and purposeful in my choice to dance
despite the inevitable deaths underfoot.
I am finished, and I bow.
Namaste, every body.