Day 17: The Sun Uncurls

The Sun Uncurls

by

Matt Zurbo

 

There once was an ant that thought, like all ants,
it knew all there is to know.
That the world exists one step at a time.

Then… (walking over a leaf as gust of wind lifts it into the air)

And this little ant felt scared,
horrified, petrified,
yet excited.

And it knew that wind gusts,
spiders wait,
that birds glide,
swoop,
dive,
and that the sun uncurls…

That people shuffle, hurt, laugh, play,
and are, oh, so small…

That kookaburras laugh for good reasons,
and that it was possible to feel lonely,
mighty,
brave and fragile
all at once.

To be lost and free and miss home.

And that even creatures with six legs must sometimes
stand still.

That there are moments when there’s nowhere to run and hide.

It learned that mountains fall
and bushfires breathe
and butterflies go where the breeze
pushes them,
and above,
the sun continues to roll and roll and roll
and touch them all.

This little ant, it learnt that clouds gather,
that they grow.
That they bully and rise
and rise.

And that there are pockets of beautiful light
before there’s dark,
and that before thunder booms it growls.

It learnt that, if it could,
the first words it would say are
“Please…”
and “Help…!”
and “Wow! I’m alive!”

The thunder howled,
lightening grabbed and clawed,
and the ant knew that sometimes
life flashes by
and that moments often never end.

And (leaf pushed up above clouds)
above it all
the sun uncurls and uncurls.

And, on the way down, it learned that horizons never end,
that the moon softly pushes in,
that, at dusk, all mothers love their children,
and kookaburras laugh out the day, even louder than they started it,
because life is full of joy!

That the sun uncurls until we can’t keep up with it.
That each night it leaves us behind.

And the long, lonely walk back home
is made
one
step at a time.

The End.