Melancholia

Peace in a Small Town

The wind conducts quite a symphony,

Carrying the sound of the trees,

The laughter of the children,

The industry of this small town

to my listening ears,

A cacophony so rich that it blends into itself,

So much so that without listening for it you wouldn't even notice its orchestra.

The rivers currents are strong enough to pull a man under without any effort on the part of the river,

and ants

  are crawling around my table, seeking carrion so that they might feast.

The birds sit in the still singing trees,

Chirp chirp chirping at all the beach goers and grass sitters below them,

probably cursing in their avian tongue,

As family's and cars and out of shape men

in ill-fitting

        skin tight

     river soaked

                           grabbing-ass swim shorts

All come and go to-and-fro,

And all of this commotion contributes

To the Wind's great composition

Each in their own small part

  helping to create a special kind of chaos,

Where,

       when you really listen

           you can find peace.