Tonight is almost a spring night,
And, they say the Flute Player is already in town.
He has come to stir up the wind,
And, to announce the arrival,
Of the Circus of Clouds.

This is the time I go back to the Everglades,
Where the land is just a handful of powdered limestone,
Scattered gossamer over a white dragon’s skin.
But, after forty thousand years,
It has gathered a coating of metal skinned dragonflies.

The flowers have come out early this year.
The scent of lilies is in the air,
And, they are searching for raindrops.
But, the clouds are too young to understand.

The Flute Player,
Knowing how long Spring can take to awake,
Has climbed to the top of the pine tree,
And, gone to sleep in the black bird’s nest.

He will wait until the circus is over,
Until the clouds have stopped playing,
And, are ready for serious business.

The white moon would have liked,
To help the spring gather the clouds.
She would have liked,
To help the Flute Player stir up the wind.
But, all too soon her time was up.
After considering everything,
In between yesterday and tomorrow,
She decided to leave,
Threw away her halo,
Dissolved into a hopeful, blue mirage.

This morning a thousand birds,
Rise up with the sun.
Another thousand rise behind them.
They do not consider leaving.
They are offering their shadows to the clouds,
Because the clouds are still too full of light,
And, the birds love the taste of rain.

It appears, in the process of being born again,
The clouds have forgotten everything,
But, they are getting reacquainted with their designs.
Soon they will be feasting on one another’s dreams.
They will be holding hands and sharing ideas.

The wind is stirring on the other side of the horizon.
He is looking forward to the taste of rain.
He is turning yesterday,
Into buff colored dust,
Into a handful of powdered limestone,
Scattered over a white dragon’s skin.
He is turning yesterday,
Into a covering of metal skinned dragonflies.
After considering everything,
In between yesterday and tomorrow,
He has decided that today is already almost over.

The alligators, patiently chewing on snails,
Consider that the moon,
Who has dissolved and disappeared,
Has perhaps become a twinkle in the Flute Player’s eye.
They consider that the moon,
Has perhaps turned into a dew drop,
Before the rise of the sun,
Just to show the clouds it can be done.

The alligators are looking forward to taste the rain.

They do not consider leaving,
Because they know, when the rains return,
They will be immense and devour the sky.
They will dress in armor and lightning.
They will feed the palmettos,
The heron and the hurricanes.
They will be mightier than our imagination.

By then the Flute Player will be gone,
Over the blue horizon,
Dissolved into a hopeful, blue mirage,
And, my only protection will have to come,
From the thick perfume of the black mud,
From the swirling water under foot,
From the dry, sharp teeth of the saw grass,
And, the spiders as big as my hand.

This morning a thousand metal skinned dragonflies,
Who have been here for forty thousand years,
Have settled down on the white dragon’s skin,
Another thousand settled behind them.
The absurd circus is finally over,
And, the clouds are discussing empires.

I have climbed to the top of the pine trees.
I have thrown away my halo,
And, dissolved into a hopeful, blue mirage,
Learning to play my own flute.

I would like to stir up the white moon.
I would like to stir up the wind.
I am offering my shadow to the clouds,
Because I am thirsting for the taste of rain.

I have become a twinkle in the Flute Player’s eyes.
In between yesterday and tomorrow.
I am asleep in the black bird’s nest.
And, I am becoming well acquainted with my dreams.

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