March On

In March, a tattered smiley-face bag swirled in the sky to the beat of the wind, delighting in freedom from earthly obligations to deliver sweet and sticky kung pao, or lug a pair of thrift store jeans back to campus.

The wind picked up, and with a now-gaping hole in its bottom and a slice through the seam, the sack seemed almost aware of its limited usefulness. This could be the final lap —it would think, if it had thoughts. THIS will be my swan song. Inhibition gave way, and the plastic tote rejoiced in a blissed-out interpretive dance, aided by a fluid breeze.

Perched high on a wire, a mockingbird provided asynchronous orchestration for the performance, as darkening clouds rumbled in discontent. A 3/10 from the heavenly Rotten Tomatoes.

The sky was displeased and March, sensing agitation, produced a gale-force wind that suddenly sucked the smiling sack skyward, disrupting the plastic ballet and quelling the disjointed symphony. Transport to a final resting place for the tote was now under way.

Up, up went the bag, flowing left and right in the draft, until the big wind abruptly quit, leaving Smiley in free fall. Along its downward floating journey, the greedy tips of a birch branch reached out and snatched the bag, halting further descent.

Now in the clutches of twisted finger-twigs, the sky dancer was trapped for good. The winds raced again and gusts returned with gusto. With a big grin and a little tenacity, the dance (if you could call it that) resumed, but this time it was more of a frantic, herky-jerky spectacle; not unlike an inflatable, rhythmless tube-man, twitching and flinging about in a used car lot.

The rising scent of earthy petrichor filled the air. A thunderclap cracked and bleached the sky, followed by a short but fierce spring rain. The storm was a welcome relief, bringing rest to the sack, exhausted from doing what was essentially “The Elaine Dance,” as seen on Seinfeld.

As the storm’s fury eased, the clouds slowly lifted. Sun blades streaked through and calm was restored. A hula hoop bounced down the street and was met with giggles. At the bottom of the birch tree, a red robin tugged on a segmented worm, half plumped out of the earth by the cleansing rain.

March can be moody. As for the sack, having danced through it all, it was shredded and frayed, but the smile remained for a very long time.

Photo Credit

Photo is courtesy of the author

Guest Author Bio
Melody McDonald

Mel McDonald wrote promotional material for Macy’s Special Events in the past. For over a decade now, she’s been editing reports for speech recognition. In between writing and crafting miniatures, you’ll find her on abandoned trails, picking tiny wildflowers and collecting curly sticks.

Website: McCabins Minis

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