Mellow Summer -- by Maria Mullis

Crimea (Magnolia) by Jan Ciągliński. Polish, 1904.

My heart lies under the magnolia tree. On its back, looking up through thick leaves that filter the burning gaze of the sun. My eyes stay hooded and lazy, I couldn’t widen them if I tried. But who would want to? My skin is enveloped in warmth so tender as to be baptized anew. Cicadas perform their symphonies to me, and me alone. I am a goddess in this grassy kingdom. Ants crawl up my bare ankles and squirrels flit through the brush. I can hear the cool dirt and its hollow echo of my thoughts. I am shielded. I am radiant.  

You would have to pry this serenity from my frail, rotting bones. Here, I can believe in nothing and everything. I can believe in only the weeds tickling my fingertips as my altar. Or the shiver that flushes my body when a wisp of breeze chooses to caress me with the soft hands of a lover. It is so easy to forget I am breathing. Don’t let me remember how to twitch my nose or remind my lungs how to cough. Let this moment be eternal. Let this be the only thing a god sees when they look down at us from the clouds scattering blue skies.