Three children run in circles under the warm shade of an oak tree too tall to soften the searing heat.
Bare feet clap with the cool grass — earth worms piously churn the soil to renew the wet skin of Nature.
Three children careless of the perspiration bleeding through their pores, and heedless of the power they feed back up to the Sun.
Dainty summer clouds brush past, lightened by the earth’s moist breath, hungrily rolling onward to where other children play.
Three children giggle, dare, shriek, spit, tumble, whine, wonder, and rest against a flaking fence demarcating a small space of care.
Brittle rose vines snake around the rotting wood, diligently nourishing thirsty pale pink blooms that crown the pickets while keeping their solemn promise.
Three children wipe their damp foreheads, imagining sheep, no clowns, no cowboys billowing high above.
Dried petals cover the grass, prepared by sunlight, converted by unseen chemistry, absorbed down within by afternoon rain showers.
Three children happy and unknowing that they will go before — before the old rose, before the old oak, before the old picket fence — to care for earthworms and fill the clouds.
Dani's Healing 