The
astrology of the yard is intractable. Morning slides over the
lawn like
an eclipse of light, and I bend for the Ledger-Enquirer, noting
with
curiosity the orbits of earthworms as they leave the freedom
of dirt. From
the first most fear light, recoil from the journey, but some
wander through
soil blindly crawling toward the hypothesis of the sun. Shining
in its
questioned glow, they rotate steadily, slightly boundless. In
minutes they
are dead, their small masses solidified, shriveled by the heat.
Left on the
pavement curved and dense as planetoids, their dark segments
are like an
augury- gauged, etched and nearly illegible.
Neca
Stoller was born and raised in Georgia. She has three books
published: Bound by Red Clay, Piedmont Stubble and How to Write
Haiku. Her haiku poetry has won international prizes and her
free verse has appeared in magazines and placed in assorted
contests.
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