Re: enchanted
doves trace crescent moons in the air
Hello. This post is about Death & Birds.
At dusk and dawn, when jagged ink branches paint the cool blue sky, I look to the space in-between—to the shapes made and shapes held by these arborescent fractals. And when I die, it is here, in these shapes of nothing, that I will meet you.
As often as I marvel and delight in the aliveness of this world and all it contains, I can too easily forget that just as it is living and breathing, so is it listening and speaking. My ability to forget certain truths which have previously kicked me square in the face, never ceases to amaze me. I spent much of the last few weeks in a loop of internal reprimand, sternly repeating that I must slow down and I must pay more attention. Well, the living, breathing world was listening and it chose the moment that I was using a mandoline vegetable slicer to share that it not only agreed, but that it was willing to kindly assist me in slowing down and in paying more attention. Farewell, small piece of my thumb. I hardly knew ye.