exhalation ovenbird The sky inhaled—a huge, trembling breath—then blew its powerful sigh over the village, forcing all the trees to wrap startled arms around their sudden nakedness. I woke to the gasping gale of fall full grown, and shivered in the yard with my nightgown flapping around my pale legs, skin translucent enough to reveal the first hint of spider veins spreading behind my knees. The cherry swayed above me and beneath the roar and rustle I heard the crackling chirrup of a hummingbird, so impossibly small in the rising storm. The door was open, inviting this weightless thing to come inside and perch on my spoon at breakfast. I dared to dream it would come in so I could boil water to make a sugar tea and serve it warm, something to sip while I dutifully ate my oatmeal. I would sing to my sky-born guest, bright and slight as pomegranate aril, while the wind played percussion on the downspouts. I would let this wisp of feather and flight make a nest in my hair, give it a safe place to sleep, away from the buffeting voice of a tempestuous autumn. I would give myself over to the art of tending and our hearts would run races around Time’s concentric track, and each lap would get shorter and our breath would get shorter too, until we found ourselves at the center of things where everything stands still, and I would accept the beautiful density of ending as it lay heavy in my lap, and the air would be still and the hummingbird would be a rising spark and me a bag of bones beyond even the hope of burning. 261009 what's it to you? who go blather from