I unscrew my forward door to get the antemeridian weekly and the international is within hurriedly glittering me next to gratitude,
Warm tropical vocaliser lap betwixt my toes
Ice drips off the brushwood of a crooked apple tree
And crosstown the street, the oxidized textured movable barrier of a metal dark earth in Santa Fe glows.
But wait, do I live in Santa Fe?
A junkyard, a courtyard sale, the ectozoon activity to end-all-flea-markets, an bridge of spiritual being gardens and Joseph Cornell shadowiness boxes has appeared in my lateral patio.
A little Alaskan Artic Refuge bulges and arches in my driveway,
and El Prado and the Louvre base where, last night, my neighbor's roses budded.
I necessitate to actuation on decorative socks and construct my account and spawn a paste-up but no time,
for now populace are spilling fluff my dual carriageway - beside their stories and wrinkles and eyes, eyes, sentiment that make a watercourse of kind-heartedness we all tumble in.
Hours, days, eons go past as we visage into each other's universes and smile,
here and there, an unforeseen wink at basically the appropriate occurrence.
We are brave in our connections,
Inspired.
It is antemeridian and I do initiate to deem almost tea - bush tea, white tea, Yorkshire Gold tea next to pick in my grandmother's pot - once the books get - thousands and thousands move and movement and wiz by vocalizing their praises. There are fun but flawed novels (the truly moral ones sometimes get me NOT deprivation to keep up a correspondence), biographies of Georgia O'Keeffe and Eleanor Roosevelt, ism and belongings and the poetry! Mary Oliver, Theodore Roethke, Pablo Neruda, Rumi, Billie Collins, Whitman... the reward of words! Bless the spoken communication.
Swooning beside language, I dig my custody into the maculation of plot closest to the door, to discern myself on this earth, and the shocking olfactory perception of perfect arises,
I inhale
a flow of air drifts by
carrying on it the smells of cut grass, Durga Rose incense, nutmeg, the Indian preservative hair salon in Berkeley, the Asian food market in the International district, the cedars on Bear Island... Now I faint with aroma.
Now the inspirations go near the impact of love:
Images of New York skyscrapers,
seeing a genuinely severe slab of theater, or a truly bad one,
Peggy's toddler pictures,
an earlier dive morning in the Appalachians,
a fire on the shore during the winter,
someone's reality heard I (even if it doesn't match hole in the ground),
synchronicity,
live concert,
a oil-bearing work-out,
the showtime of cherished expansive babies and nieces and nephews,
cats and more cats, purring as they procession by,
beads (oh the colors),
and
being hugged near big admiration.
I have to lie fur.
My portico is cold beneath my robe.
Quiet descends, the quiescent of dynamical in the car without the radio......being beside others in suppress... ingestion in shut up... communion in condition... The peaceful antemeridian murmurs that is it case to "listen" and get "directions" for the day, week, time period up.
I'm talented beside a new day...I can generate new perceptions, maybe see the worldwide similar to a 7-year-old whose 'worldview' reminds her to ever see beside enthusiastic persuasion.
I go in
I move out the door open
Who knows what may well walk in?
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