Saturday, May 31, 2014

Underneath Our Shouts and Songs

Unexpectedly a crow. As after several years without, bobolinks seen now two days straight. How long can I go without thinking about ants and their abiding respect for order? Bike tires hum on the back roads underneath our shouts and songs. The sky darkens and our dreams go unfulfilled.

D. studied the yard a few minutes before saying, "I can't say I think a hell of a lot about your mowing" to which I said "that's because you're not a violet" to which he said - after giving it some thought - "I see." Whiskey by the open fire, late spring cold on your neck, and bears hooting a couple miles uphill. How many bodies do we have to hold before we can say we've held them all? Washing rice for half an hour in advance improves the sushi considerably. I hid near the hanging laundry and watched two rabbits work a patch of dandelion.

What kind of Jesus are you looking for anyway? What does the rain think of umbrellas and from what does it long for protection? Be all my sunny days, be all my sumptious nights. Between thoughts a sort of energetic opening into which one slips, like swimming naked at midnight, like not wanting to ever leave. Someday we won't even need to use radios.

Sliced pears and carrots, beet hummus and cold peppermint tea. One moves slower as if intent on discovering what has always hidden in plain sight. Ernst's insights into blue return to mind and I am instructed again accordingly. Raisins beckon helpfully. Wrapped in old blankets, a little space left over.

No comments:

Post a Comment