A flutter of flame consumed leaves
falls onto my crown, drifting embers.
I breathe in lungfuls of wild fennel
drifting from nearby fallow fields.
A buzzard’s shriek echoes over clover
reclaiming every exposed inch of loam.
I have so much time now.
I hold it lightly in my hands,
offer it to the churning sky,
watch it flit away like a finch.