The night dripped fat wet drops of rain down from fluttering leaves overhead…down, splat…smacking down on my clothes. The top of my head, sending prickling sensation waves drifting through my skin. A pat here, a splotch there. Silence rustling through the trees, bushes whispering wordless meaning richer than that last inspiration blast from the latest booming voice. To sit there was meaning itself…inhaling great gulping breaths of air heavy with life, with all the purpose bees know and flowers grow without so much as a word of wisdom or motivation to guide them or trip them up on notions of fancy living, quietly unfolding this song no one can fathom beyond the moment, intensely singing out their color ministrations oblivious of their purpose. Yet, so fat with it. My feet thanked the earth’s hum, an hour gone into my skin, my bones, my blood a pounding thank you to the pulse now sounding me to sleep ‘neath covers revolutionized by the feel of earth-laden body. The song of trees, flowers, dirt and rain coursing through my veins, reminding me no great mission, no mighty aspiration compares to the fullness of a now spent and spending stories in my skin, night’s breeze wiping away strife, drowning out all the clutter.