peering inward, hands trembling

raining.
rain rain rain rain rain.

My visitor has gone, theres no baling of hay happening due to the rain factor and everything seems soooo vast and quiet, seductive and excruciatingly solitary.

visitors from big cities are always so odd to have around. their lives from their own mouths seem so unreal to me. So cerebral, indulgent, and steeped in human drama. And they observe the farm in passing, storing bits of memory in their travel bag, souvenirs of endless space, animals lives and high desert quiet.

i don't miss the big cities.

but...that said, the quiet now tells me i miss the pitter patter of human activity. i enjoyed the sound of someone doing dishes in the next room. The sight of someone passing by outside the window, knowing someone sleeps in the shop next to the house in the early morning while i write the my desk.

the rain lets up to a drizzle.

the quiet tells me i'm tired of doing this alone. tired of being the only human heart beat.
the only hands.

i want to hold hands while sunflowers bloom and track the days passing. someone to bring in greens and carrots from the garden smelling like earth, singing a low song and planning for winter.

theres a chill now in the morning, the sun rises so much later and theres nothing quite like the warmth of a human body to my frame. the bloods journey beneath smooth skin and that slight give of ones bones to accomodate the embrace.

the warmth.the hands.

ahhh. such a poet....always longing for something.

the rain has stopped.