Saturday, June 27, 2015

6824. MAKE LOVE TO THE SPARKLING PATTERN

MAKE LOVE TO THE 
SPARKLING PATTERN
Someone says 'you can't be there, there's nothing there,
there's not even any reason to uphold.' I want to nod, and
say, 'yeah, you're crazy alright.' But I don't  -  today was
a too-nice day for me to carp and quarrel, even with the 
rain. I walked the Wakahoba Creek with a heart of gold
and a pattern of love. The woman next to me assented, 
and, alongside us, freely, this miraculous dog kept up
and stayed with us, loose and curious, the entire way.
There was a sign, said 'Copperheads.' I guess it meant
snakes. Or was that some sort of old phrase of money?
No one knew anyway, and I didn't care. I got to the
little barn and shed I'd sought  -  nicely red, and some
people nearby I'd known before. We all sat down and
talked. Did I realize here a pattern? Yes. This life is
a silent grace, a period only broken  -  now and then  - 
by the right kind of talk if you let it. I saw their faces,
the freckles and the spots, and knew this was another
moment : something to have and hold and treasure,
like the flight of a distant bird, coming back for
another dose, another cage-kept go-round of living.

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