It Is Too Loud In The City, One Cannot Hear The Crickets Cry
It is all very simple
here
I wake without an alarm
scrape leftover porridge into a container for the stray mother cat and her kittens
they are wild
the mother hisses at me even when I feed her
when I walk up the mountain in +32 heat
with packets of ham and milk to feed them
but this morning
she comes close
as I scrape the food
she brushes against my leg
as if to say thank you
and this interaction will be the pride of my day
I won her
it took 9 days
but I won her after all
she won me the moment I saw her sleeping with her two grown babies curled inside of her belly, drinking milk
too old to be drinking milk
but there isn’t any food
so she lets them
they lay like that
draped upon on another
when the mountains were still cool and in shadow
My days consist of this–
it is simple yet profound
I think the greats knew this secret
that to write one needs space and silence and a place to think
I place to muse at yellow pieces of wheatgrass beckoning at the sun
It is too loud in the city
one cannot hear the crickets cry
let alone their own thoughts
how am I to write there?
There will always be stories
but right now
my heart beats deep for these days.