I sit quietly in the rain. When the sun shines, I sit quietly among the open sky. As the snow falls
, I glance across the white dusting, still. And as the wind awakens, I am the silent companion of day and night. In the months that grazed past my strict mold, I missed being seen. I missed being roused to a wild gallop over the sweet meadows of distant dreams. You may wonder how I bear the universe revolving around my mere existence each passing hour.
I am minor; but a trifle on this planet – as I sit quietly in the rain: the trains in rushing motion glide through tunnels, up mountain passes, from city to sea; as windows briefly align, youthful passengers wave their hands, noses pressed against window panes. The rapid movement blurs the near landscape. Somewhere a stork rattles its beak. Newspaper print on sticky fingers at the breakfast table
, headlines dwell in human minds like sunken ships in bottomless pits – death tolls and presidents, the bizarre chasing the bizarre, politicians, protesters, there a lonely swallow – to me they are the same.
My accomplice, in fact, a tree, reaches a branch across my muzzle, down trickles a single raindrop. I shoulder the pain, and a crest was once my pride, now a line drawn to meet the mountain top. I cherish this drop more than any human narration. I move my chin sideways to feel the moisture tickle my throat and for a moment I am alive. Now ask again and be my rider, high up on my wooden frame, a trot ahead as I carry your weight on my back, legs bent against my flanks, the whirling wind fleetingly prods your brow – giddy-up!
Here I am. I sit quietly in the rain
, the waters have washed over these shores long before humans – little, boisterous drops – have left their mark. I realize that we sit here shoulder resting on shoulder, and as all revolves, I am – now train, now president, now swallow and a drop – giddy-up, I say.