All Around the Hush

The texture of change.

In the end, all is impermanence. How deep is your keel; how tall is your mast. Can you open a little more? At one hundred turtles down there is stillness and yet, it is not static. Water moves all around the hush. Nothing is impossible.

The old dirt road is through pain – its many ruts – the washboard nature in spring. When it also bends and rises with pleasure, one struggles to come to rest at the final crest. Yet Love's urging feet. Yet the birds' translation from the crown.

*

November comes fresh with snow, dawn spilling pink over the army of rooftops. Diamonds of frost, our daytime stars. I'm lifting us all with my breath. I don't want anything anymore except to join. Words don't count. Enter me and no more mistakes will be made.

Last golden leaves peer through new lace. I am here and so are you. Sunlight breaks through the treeline. How we walk the road is up to us. I'm reaching out my hand.

Let's go?