A Modest Realignment Of Intentions, Ambitions

You wake up without any recollection of having dreams. Half an hour later, perked up on caffeine and political headlines, you suddenly picture a cowboy, bowlegged, trudging through dust "with his head hung low." To what extent was purple either a presence or an influence in narratives emerging from western frontiers? The wind of the past week has slowed to a tremble.

The condition of certain books - a history so thumbed and crumpled rubber bands hold it together. A mystery with its upper corner nibbled off -

- oh hey - but I do remember one dream: me sitting on the red, white and gold couch in my old bedroom when all three cats stream through. Two - Lillian and Gus - hold mice in their chops. I stare into the shiny black eyes of one of the unfortunate rodents and can't tell if it's dead or alive -

- and then also, as happened recently, library books with the notes of strangers tucked inside. Truly, right now on the fridge is a postcard from Scotland, Loch Ness at sunset, photoshopped to perfection.

What does prayer reflect but a modest realignment of intentions, ambitions. "It wouldn't hurt you to say thank you once in a while, would it?" One can't always say, can they, what will hurt and what will not.

Yesterday - no, sorry, two days ago - I watched a robin struggle mightily to haul a worm from the ground only to have one of the Wyandottes (or was it an Austrolorp) race over and steal it. There was nothing I could do, so I did nothing, even though I felt bad. Yet there is something a spectator can do - they can convert to a witness. Record, remember and then recount.

You always want to end big - you believe, even though you challenge it (as you challenge every belief you hold deeply, to the point where you barely feel safe holding any belief at all) that how you end casts a long permanent shadow over everything leading up to this point. But that's just your opinion.