to experience as the leaves fall and rest upon the frosted ground remembering how they unfolded just months before in the springtime air how the child crossed the street not returning never to be seen again having disappeared into their own drawing of a storm of hope on a winter day where life is an extreme experiment in truth and the possibility of grander vistas lures the eyes down the block and around the corner into adventure
To find the perfect book To understand birdsong To find intention to be For hot water in the bathtub to stay hot while I soak For muscles in my back to never knot For both sides to arrive and be surprised To wait, always wait, in peace To feel enough discomfort to yearn To understand the fine print
I AM who I AM, known by what has been and by the moments of here and now and by the dreams of what can be, may the multitude of I AMs we cry join together into a chorus of WE ARE; for once again our pronoun usage focuses more on the me in ourselves and threatens to unravel the careful stitching of our ancestors through time which brought us together intersecting our pasts, our presents and our futures. Amen.
Won't it be fun? Isn't it fun? Wasn't it fun? How much fun was it? How much fun is it? How much fun will it be?
To dad I really Love you. xoxoxoxoxo xoxoxo. I think you are the best dad for me. I hope you had fun at Chicago. and thank you for getting this note book for me & cori. I like it very much. Love your Baby Sydney
I breathe the truth in the dust that lingers in the air from years of patient longing. A daughter asks me to carry her raising her arms as she turns to me saying, Uppy. The ordinary resumes after a vacation trip that took us to the edge of delight, playing in the waters of life. Unpacked, we ride our bikes to the fountain where the girls walk circles counting bricks and the cascades spray mist upon us. The simple pleasures adorn themselves still finding refuge from the complex which waits patiently for the following day. Earlier, the flight path of our return took us over where we now stand and we looked down upon the roof of our house and the woods and this tiny circle of water which now becomes our daily destination.
Fascinating images from long ago glitter in the grass. A daughter runs through a sprinkler across the wet lawn. Another turns the page while sitting on the driveway reading. Still another calls for me to give her a push on the swing. I ignore the silent roaring of time feeling my very bones become old. The neighbor makes himself known with a call and a wave. A dead man out of mind, a forgotten ancestor, rises to play. Buckets and toy shovels wait in the sandbox where some grass grows. The soundlessness cannot last all the bright day long, can it? I look around for my hiding place we built the previous winter in the snow. All I see is the length of reflected light stretching toward my eyes. In the water the nightscapes dance as a promise after the sun goes down.
During dinner I said, "My feet are too large for my room." She said, "Any room means riotous wealth upon which you can walk." I said, "But cramped living leads to small bitternesses and resentments." She added, "And also for cozy living arrangements that call for lots of snuggling." I smiled. "I welcome those small delights which can be found when space is at a premium." She said, "All of creation is one large room."
Why is there always enough space after dinner and before bedtime to ask one more question? What makes a two hour sail in the burning sun too long for any questions to be asked? How does my gaze fall upon the one book I have wanted for a so long stacked in the midst of questions? And, as the Psalmist asks, "What profit is there in my blood, when I go down to the pit?"
God Who Burns and Does Not Destroy, who whirls in the wind by day and dances in fire before us by night, beguile us with visions in the corners of our eyes, beautiful enough if beauty will do, interesting enough if we are bored, satisfying enough if we hunger, but just enough and no more, for we are already sated on enough of us and more will make our feet too heavy to turn and be amazed that the bush burns and is not burned up. Amen.