the butterfly belt

I'm alone on the wooden pallet which sits below the backyard May tree. I could stay here all day even if only to collect freckles on the skin and to witness the tomato plant curl towards sunlight. I like being alone, my thoughts stay with me like the sight of a roaring campfire stays with the eyes of those who watch it. I'm not thinking about time or the loss of it, I'm not thinking about where I'll go tomorrow, I'm only thinking about the poetry of a pepper plant and the way sunlight in July makes me feel like singing.

There are days when I sit below the May tree and I wonder who I am. Is this what I want? Am I in love with the world? Do I like myself? Do I say too much? Do I say too little? Will these dreams of mine become tiny ghost towns if I don't follow them today? I can sit and stew as good as anybody, I can wonder until I am without a breath, I can grow thoughts high as proud buildings, I can let the July sun kiss me while still worrying about what's to come, but today I'll have none of that.

Today, I am alone but not lonely. My wild-eyed dog sits at my feet and sneezes every time a breeze brings us the scent of flowers. I smile at her button nose and soon after, she barks at me. I am pawed at until the point of laughter. I am loved by this creature who is made up of equal parts cotton and puppy chow. I am here, alive, and the warm air floats by as if to say "You are important because you can feel this."