We’re all rodents here, with plenty of food. Illusions of lack abound. The only task is to widen the eyes and see what’s really going on. And what is that? We are in the midst of an explosion of natural gifts. We snuff out a mosquito, a possum or an ugly potato bug, and thousands …
Nightshade on the hill. In my life. A stipe of dripping glaze on pottery. A reaching pine that pretends to bow down. A handful of tomatoes born of weaker dirt. A crying seabird above roadway tire hums. The sun crowns above the wealthy homes on the hill. A necklace of eggs surrounds my neck like …
And the jester knows not how he jests or if he jests. He’s clad with shiny ideas – a fist full of data and facts, absolutely knowing what the world is but aware of no thing. Aware of nothing under his nose. Not of the flea jumping across cement-bonded bricks. Nothing of coffee tasting like …
An arrival like a note in the street. Like a worm born of dirt. Like a mermaid. My own personal Buddha. A gem in the pocket. A mirror person to bounce happy back to me. Merrily. Show and tell for grown children. Only layers of biological directive are added post-kindergarten. But oh to stay in …
A young boy of maybe six years cries then laughs then throws a stick my way. He grabs it near my chair then throws it at his mom. A woman in a red bandana on her head and a matching patterned bathing suit. Sea birds fishing for sardines or anchovies. Bandana woman poses herself for …
