Parachutes for Pilgrims

Tonight the wind blew so fierce I had to pedal downhill!  A more lovely sensation I never did had.

Ode to Spring

the underground is just like home!

Mama Mia!

Today, like the sharp applause of a too-long frozen bell, arrived the crystaline chrome of a freshly stitched Spring.  

I unfurled these here two stockings and put on myself a dress.  I opened the door (popping like a can of sudden soda!) which blew a soft and earthen wind about two lapping, blue curtains.  A smell was summoned by the echo of seasons laid on, like contently folded laundry and a muddy sort of grass.  I didn't know quite what to do, too long accustomed to winter's bond; this foreign tongue of a warmer blood, a trickling of faith - wet gold over the heart! - the prick of sandpaper from the sun to softer skin, a tightening of all things, the body fortified, an ultimate vigor, a certain coming to!

Stepping feet into the dawn, a pendulous light through trees, a silver shimmer to everything touched, like moths, everywhere moths...  Life seemed at once to be sentient again, the animals sang in hoarse, unpracticed timbre; the air above was milky soft, breaking as if from a cupboard lined with moss.  Looking down, dearest reader, my favorite of all:  The strawberries, O sweet strawberries!  How they had been lifting themselves, offering the platters of their leaves to the sun with their hairy little arms.  

Is it possible to fall, so entirely with affection, for these simplest of things we cannot understand??  Is it all we can do to try and put it into words??

On a bicycle toward home in the evening I was overcome with the sparkle of the first taste of lilac.  I circled around to catch it once more.  The world is different, and I am not the same in it.

It's a cheat, O, yourn beat

When night comes bearing the darkness of another silent, empty street, thoughts careen about mountain roads, I can hear the engines, headlamps through a mist of winged wreckage, the yowling wind of parted memory, a dusty bottle of stale and shaken fizz.

So wounded when I caught that eye, one can see the reel so clear in backpedal!  It was like coming home, like a flavor in the pot I could never quite repeat.  A fawn in a meadow of doubt I daren't touch for fear an apparition.  Jointly but for a breath, a sip of air, and it'd gone.  Like a dream, I awoke there, mad with the fever of my nakedness, those lips a drunken smoke, something I craved between my brow, two eyes that glistened, unhindered, like water gulped from it's source.

My ears ring with a silence, too prideful to speak it.

words belong alive. none belong to me!

to know that what is impenetrable to us really exists, manifesting itself as the highest wisdom and the most radiant beauty

but such is the irrisistible nature of truth, that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing

behold, kind dreamer, examine thy pillow