A single tone plucked from an oriole's song evokes a wild, unbroken landscape. In the Mara there were no fences – no sutures pretending to heal serration – only tented beliefs from which to emerge.
In the schoolyard, clover is left to bloom. Waiting on or digging for or studying "why" doesn't really change the livestock's desire for fodder.
Faith and her hopeful expectations! I'm watching life gather in the pond and letting the muddy waters settle. The biology of truth, teeming.
And how many things have I brought to life by thinking? Unraveling / unveiling / uncoiling.
Two birds hit the window today, hard. This and other diary entries marking unknown moments for unexplained reasons.
What if we all went to the movies and my leg brushed against yours in the dark? Afternoon naps that go too far.
bottle brush pines
A certain fumbling to find the off-switch for a blinding beacon sorta prevents the chill vibe I am going for. Forget me, forget-me-not. But write it.
Near 3 a.m., God's voyeurism glows through a crack in the blinds. The dream drowns me to consciousness by lapping the freezing lake up to my shoulders. How dark and cold the night is when you've pushed away the blankets that make the bed so pretty!
Habanero pepper in the macaroni and cheese. Every time she told me the conference is in Boston, I kept seeing angry men looking for wooden legs. My own jokes passing the time.
A renewed desire to hike. I've asked about Pigeon Creek Trail and will find out what dawn has to say about it – after the doctor's appointment I hate.
All these words dancing or creeping or sliding around the connection of naked intent. If I'm honest, which I am not, I just want us to take a walk.