The swelter of warm night after warm night
broke this morning with a roar of a storm,
and the sticky aftermath gave way to a cool
afternoon with bluster to spare.
I went out walking in the evening, after
the sun had dipped behind roof peaks,
the wind moving through the lawn breaks
and tousling the treetops above. Gardens
bursting out of their confines and spilling
to the curb.
Out on the sidewalk a girl pedaled her bike
up and down the block, shadowing a rabbit
as it took in its dinner from this or that lawn.
The rabbit would stop, nibble some clover,
the girl would stop, and the rabbit
would tear back down the street
to another patch of food.
Her conscious mind turned off she gave chase,
as if chasing down the mystery of nature,
sure in her childish way
that she would find the answer,
would be that.
I’ve found out by now,
in really just a few years on Earth,
that the mystery is not to be solved.
But as I passed her and reached the corner
I watched the trees dance above me,
dance and dance in the blowing wind,
and looking down the street I watched those trees dance too,
and I kept walking, taking up the chase again anyway.