Kindnesses extended, tickets home. Wavering threads of conversation. In the body, any body, blood does what it does, but that's no reason to make your brain a corporate board room. Or, as we say in the company of unseen warblers, shut up and listen.
That shade of green, this star-shaped (this semen-colored) mushroom. All night drinking wine and listening both to rain and peepers gets you nowhere. Off the trail one unexpectedly encounters paths. In the distance, then, clouds.
Clowns? We circumambulated the hayfield, stopping to admire butterflies, kneeling by the pale wild morning glory. The body makes the world, yes, but there is another mode of perception. It is not whose voice is that trending with the wind.
Livid commas substitute for hormones. In this sentence a seed hides that might commit a mortal act. Do you "see" connections? A beam of light fell a certain way and a shard of light blue pottery floated up through the soil.
Cucumbers lightly salted, fresh (low bush) blueberries. A drifting that takes the place of certainty but still is no relief. There is no such thing as a new thought or the only thought that matters. Hawk weed near the road brings me up short.