Saturday, June 8, 2013

Always Waiting As If Knowing

There are no mysteries, you know. Shadows scale the barn wall, the horse tosses his head. You can think of it as tides, or a long slow kiss, or else what wells up inside you when you walk alone at dawn.

One writes carefully sometimes, and sometimes recklessly. Please be happy anyway! I am grateful when you come to me at night, knowing the nature of my sorrow and pain.

One sits quietly by the bluets. One studies the bears and then moves up the trail. The heron is always waiting, as if knowing that he needs to be looked at.

I am the man without shoes by choice and I don't regret it. All I ever said was that I listened once and the silence listened back. One is given so much and yet still consents to longing.

In the forest, loneliness morphs into something holy. The movement is always toward truth. There are no impediments save the ones we are still trying to understand.

One mutters and scribbles and the days pass. It rains and then the sun appears. One wakes to stars that appear - no kidding - happy to be seen.

What a lovely story! What a happy ending!

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