Laughing Pines

Sunrise after a winter in bed. One doesn't always choose the teacher, I chirped. The laughing pines measured the distance and found that we were too close to see each other. How's that for a hardy lesson? All I know for sure is that my attention sweeps the territory for what is.

From blankets, I watch light climb the tired fence. Our tired fence. What leans will eventually fall of course. Yet East rises chiming the bell of truth every day. Gouged eyes still see it. Traveled paths still host the feet of hikers looking backwards. Rivers still speak new sentences without ever stopping.

It all. Goes. On.

She gets out of bed. She walks. She makes it work for every one. Quitting makes sense until the damn sunrise pierces the romance of starlight and dark bodies. You've known this all along. I'm not sure when I'll find it all so funny.