spineless

The moon is full. The tides pull us out to sea, that salty brine that gave birth to us vertebrates. It has been a cool week, a cool summer, and the leaves have grown long in the sun. Fruits hang perilously on branches.

I wake up and my spine is stiff. I sit and drink my dark coffee. My spine softens as the day unfolds. I haul heavy stones and move gravel and soil from place to place. My spine becomes weary. Soreness, an ache that leaves me breathless for relaxation. And I wonder, would I relax as much without the hurt?

I long for isolation. Words drop from my mouth that do not mean anything. I feel forced to explain my every word and action. I would rather sit and watch the loons dive into the chilly waters of a lake left by ancient glaciers, sit on a rock moved by crawling frozen water from one place to another, my spine straight.