As Whispers Icarus

Lake Michigan and the Steelhead sun.

The only other place is in those dreams of mine, an inch from the ground, pulling myself around by the handfuls of grass, my feet like concrete in this half-melted wax. And it feels like I should be going so fast but instead it’s much too slow. People passing me left and right even though I know that I am below the scope of the wind and the rays that would have me pinned like a bug to a specimen glass.

I should clean the earth from my fingertips to get a better grip, but in them I have no stronger clutch. Every inch forward is simply not fast enough, so it seems that there is no getting out from under this plate on my back.

Slow motion momentum causing this confrontation. I am ready, even breathing heavily, but I can not move beneath this ton of light and air. And all the while up there the sky is blue, mocking me as the clouds divide for what breaks through, and they scatter for they know that barring delay by a Hell's army war, when I get loose I will be coming for the sun.

Ah, but you are so young and too bold, just hold for that sun is a seducing one when it calls you early and before you are ready. It is wise and sly and hungry for all those souls that burn like yours, flaming and unsteady, ego open wide, and it will eat you whole to feed that shine. No, not yet for you. Not your turn, nor was it mine.

Just hold, just hold, and in good time you will have your race with the sun.