turbulent ovenbird I send my mayday signal from ten thousand feet in the air. This skyway is a dirt road throwing gravel into my eyes and I have no hand to hold as we lurch towards the west. I’m gripping my seat as if it could save me, as if it could offer an embrace. If we fell from the sky it would root my growing terror but offer no comfort as we met fire and darkness. What_is_something_you_love? Would you tell me now before all this nothing falls away? I love the heron, heraldic in the sun. I love the orb_weaver, fat on flies as she meets autumn’s reaper. I love your hands, pale as the leaves of a silver maple, catching in my hair. I love that there’s no rush, though time refuses to stay. I love the way you say, “It’s okay to cry,” and mean it, while my tears water everything that grows between us. I love the weedy wild we are becoming. 260805 what's it to you? who go blather from