Sunday, July 10, 2022

So Often Amazed

Do you go outside at four a.m. to stand in dewy grass and look at the stars? Shadows of crows.

Look - in the river sinking - my heart. 

Watering the tomatoes, end of the hottest day of the year, swallows filling the sky like an angelic cursive alphabet. Doubt enters my mind again. 

At last a hummingbird. 

Ways we live that cause us pain, which pain inevitably extends into the hearts of others. Phospohoresence is the name of a ghost. 

Name it and own it, or, as I like to say in company that can handle it, get your shit together.

I have good reasons for no longer going to church, but I do miss the friendship and sharing in an intentional spiritual context. What is the means by which a sea turtle recognizes another sea turtle?

What is falling, what is fallen.

Are you amazed, I am so often amazed. The little place in Adams that we visit for coffee, the little bench by the old train station where sit in shade and drink together.

In the distance, a moose.

Transgressions light the way, don't kid yourself. When I used to come back from long walks with pockets full of stones.

Watering the garden rainbows.

So it has become darker, so what, look at who is here with you, what else could possibly matter. Morning kisses deepening, extending unto the length of our bodies, this too is summer.

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