Thresholds

Tree root remnants tossed atop dirt mounds look like giant inverted octopi swimming away from the light. Everything underground groans. I'm not sure I belong to this place but I do feel like an integral component of the hole in which I am standing.

Birds ride rivers of air, dropping an invitation to see things another way. Perhaps flyers of all kinds – wax, metal, feather – are not seeking escape from the earth. Maybe they simply long for the release from the tyranny of distance. Could it be that flying actually brings another level of intimacy with and to earthly places? They must always be aware of what is above and below. Though they might forget themselves in a few moments of ecstasy or delight, at some point they right themselves in the knowledge of earth and sky.

Thresholds on the periphery. Can we make life more simple? Can we strip it down? Something inchoate is emerging.

Talking about mushrooms is like having birth pangs: 'if' changes to 'when.' The baby is coming. Are we there yet?

On the threshold, there is a certain intimacy – a clarity of sonic details and breathing which affects all the senses. With every halting step I am finding trust and returning it ten fold before the next move.

This metaphorical life.

These slow sips from the seep.