Down

Shrinking days.

Autumn tilts my pail and remnants spill – hot starry nights, campfire breath, and firefly ash.

Fallen oak leaves curl in the corner where the back deck meets the house. From my bedroom window I watch a turkey jump-fly in one swoop up to the monkey bars of the neighbor's play set.

Shoulders and mountains determined. Does the way in which we climb matter? I want to go beyond imaginings. I want to go beyond what is put into words.

As I drove into sunrise this morning, ribbons of purple and magenta and orange bled across the horizon. Trees floated on bottomless blues. Fields blushed and scrambled with no where to hide. And I was of that light, feverishly awake.

Heaven in half light. A mountain cabin on the horizon and all of life gathering around a stream trickling down, down, down. This and other movements flowing beyond time. That is what I am interested in: being cleansed from that which I know.

I will be standing there naked, not knowing. I think that's how all of this goes.