CONVERSATION No. Five
After a Bicycle Ride along the River to the Ocean

Clouds must be listed among the phenomena
That are not what they appear to be.
Brightening sometimes,
Threatening sometimes,
Delighting spectators with races across the sky...
Terrifying other more timid creatures cowering.

Who was it discovered that all things change eventually
From one thing to something else against the backdrop of reality...
Or at least from what they appear to be to something else
Quite different depending on the color of experience?
Is that dark cloud bank on the far edge of the sky
Just an innocent white cloud deprived of light, or what?

What a trip it would be
To take off running from the top of that high hill
And leap into the air at the last minute
Before rushing over the edge of the cliff
And fly out over the river and green valley
To get in line behind pelicans and glide with hawks.

Old Indian men and perhaps even women
Can tell before clouds appear
If they will entertain with dancing
Or punish the earth with water and fire.
Perhaps it is those circling hawks
that speak to them, or the wind.

To break out from the glide
And head off toward the towering thunderhead
Waiting on the western horizon
And slide into the soft shoulder of high fog
And then turn straight up in the middle
Through the storm to the topmost billow...

The little sparrows know when to duck
Under the heavy leather leaves of the oak
And the fox streaks toward shelter
Ignoring the lumbering cows making their way
To the barn or the shelter of that line of trees
Before the storm crashes down on them.

What a joyful ride it would be
To streak wet and glistening
Through the driving rainshower
Just above the tips of the willows
Tossing their feather branches in the wind
To land feet first running through the meadow.

You prefer the storm to blank skies
And long for thunder on the plain
Rolling along toward the mountain.
You choose to take your chances flying
Among the screaming lightening bolts
Rather than sit unthreatened in dead calm.