So I am an aberration, so what. I drink coffee by the ferns at five a.m., there is nothing to say, which means you can say anything, and so I hold my peace.
You want angels in a world full of butterflies, what is wrong with you. Our feet in the shallows, trout fry nibbling our toes, hips grazing, our shared silence reaching distances I heretofore only knew as longing.
Where the hemlocks lean and touch a single cloud hovers, a blessing. Oh swallows please do not leave the sky, I am still a little scared to die.
My mother aging rapidly, as if before my eyes. Spiderwebs at twilight, at a certain angle shimmering.
Coming down from the attic to show the family what we learned in our isolation, what we know now about penance, and rare modes of unconditional forgiveness. Towering clouds following the river, promising rain.
When you see Christ in the other and do not need it to go further than that, that love. This is what it is like to play music together.
Evening Primrose forgive me. Feral cats haunt the barn, now and then dragging unfortunate rats through the hay onto sunlit flagstones to be eaten.
Who tells you to go your own way and means it? Fallen tree limbs, this new way of decorating the earth.
Hummingbirds are living prisms, I did not know this, thank you. At night I wander out to the horses and stand in the pasture lit with ten thousand fireflies, grateful and amazed in ways I cannot stand I cannot share.
Yet ask: what you are here to learn. Hawk defines the sky, om shanti shanti shanti.
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