The sky is pulling closer to the earth

My feet sink into mud

Shallow and slippery

Breathing is a damp mist

I do this and then it is done

Another day opened without a sun

Cold grey mornings strung together

A necklace of prayers

Mental fingers counting every one

Monday

Tuesday

Wednesday

The to do list chants in time to the rhythm of my feet

I ignore it

Watching three cranes in flight

Free spirits clad in feathers

No wonder they are light

Their days have no label

No bead strung along a calendar to flip over

Say this day

This day is the day it changes

I change

But Monday comes around again

And the cranes have landed

Far away, out west

By a body of water in the middle of nowhere

They dip to fish

Stride the shallow waters with long bent legs

Their souls dwell in temporary chests

Soaring aloft

Their bones disappear

Were they ever here?

Was I?

Only our mental constructs bind us to this moment

The cranes fish, tend their hatchlings

And die

Blending with the mud

And I keep running

Because Tuesday is coming

And my mind likes to think itself important