blowing dead leaves from the gutters
- Rod Rushing
- Jul 22, 2020
- 1 min read
“To hear never-heard sounds, To see never-seen colors and shapes, To try to understand the imperceptible Power pervading the world; To fly and find pure ethereal substances That are not of matter But of that invisible soul pervading reality. To hear another soul and to whisper to another soul; To be a lantern in the darkness Or an umbrella in a stormy day; To feel much more than know. To be the eyes of an eagle, slope of a mountain; To be a wave understanding the influence of the moon; To be a tree and read the memory of the leaves; To be an insignificant pedestrian on the streets Of crazy cities watching, watching, and watching. To be a smile on the face of a woman And shine in her memory As a moment saved without planning.” ― Dejan Stojanovic
couldn’t tell you the exact moment that change happened.
only know that it has been happening and hasn’t finished.
there is a sense of ritual and proportion that pervades this time of year.
prepare, prune, plant, remove, make room, hibernate
can’t be all that i desire. can only be as close to best as i can.
i felt a cold breeze accompanied by comfort.
this was familiar and primal
it is technicolor fading to sepia
it is work and it has worked this way for millenia
even for a blowhard like me
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