Summer kept arriving.

More than once.

 

Flicker stood
where the forest felt busy.

Light reached her early.
Sound reached her often.

 

Leaves fluttered.
Branches answered.

Warmth stayed close.

Everything wanted her attention.

 

At first,
Flicker liked it.

So much happening.
So much to notice.

 

Sound came from everywhere.

Near sounds.
Far sounds.
Sounds that crossed and stayed.

The air felt full.

 

Heat pressed in.

Light did not move on.

The day kept going.

 

Flicker tried to hold it.

All of it.

She did not want to miss anything.

 

Her branches trembled.

Leaves brushed against each other
again and again.

The forest did not quiet.

 

THE TURNING QUIET

The Longest Day arrived.

Not balanced—
full.

 

Sound did not soften.

It stacked.

Layer on layer.

 

The year pressed in,

Heat stayed.

Sound stayed.

Not waiting.

 

Then—

inside her bark—

something closed.

 

The year finished—

whether she was ready or not.

It held heat that lingered.
Noise that stayed close.
Light that did not rest.

The year fit—

too much.

 

Flicker felt it.

 

The forest gathered.

But the sounds did not leave her.

The warmth did not fade.

 

Flicker did not feel proud.

She did not feel finished.

 

She stood,
wanting the world
to get smaller again.

 

Closing

Some moments are bright.

Some are loud.

Some ask for less.