I wrote some writing in the time it takes to breathe auspicious breaths.
grey was the morning, the same morning that provides current in the
darkening stream. each morning differs with a colour or light. sometimes
the writing needs a day of plain rocks tossed into the coming concentric
circles. sometimes the circles precede the very rock that will be
embraced. in our intimate swimming the rings seem marvelous and
conjoined to our rush of perspective. we are challenged to embrace thru
the normative particles of recent events. this is the love we sought.
and if I wrote some breath, it becomes me to stay back from the
movements that follow. the circles will widen, as anyone can see. grey
mornings will suffice. something terrific gives us our time. we share
and trend toward delight. not everyday gives such evidence, and sadly,
the trees have disowned the latest year of leaves. the circle settles in
its growing and we hold hands. there sits the gesture, rounding out nicely.
