The shadows on the side of the shed are moving like something alive.  The setting sun and the wind the culprits in the deceit that shadows have volition.  The cloud formations are going through their routine of orange to pink to purple, the purple an alligator that turns into a dragon as I watch.

When was the last time you watched clouds?  Lay on your back in the grass without worrying about creepy crawly things, dug your toes in, relaxed into reverie, the heat settling on you like a lover, the dark coming in from the east breathing cooler air, bringing the first star.  When was the last time you made a wish on a star and believed it might come true?

This morning the bluebird lit on the wind sculpture merry-go-round.  Then the ruby throated hummingbird visited the columbines, and a mockingbird and robin had a disagreement over worm rights on the front lawn – ignored completely by the seven feral felines I feed every morning.  When you aren’t hungry, you don’t kill – not for sport – at least in the animal kingdom.  And some throw that word around as a pejorative.  As if being sleek, having fangs and claws and eyes that see in the dark is something to be ashamed of.  More the two-legged variety that plays with words weaving deceit like moving shadows.

Today I pursued hope with black ink on white paper.  I found there are ways to move forward even if not the direction you had hoped, like the bluebird going round and round until it realizes it’s time to get off and try one direction over which it has control, even if the carousel has its moments of amusement.

Tonight I will take the bubbles from the Easter basket, walk outside, set them free on the wind, give each a wish to carry up to the stars and begin again to believe that wishes can come true.