Walking along...well...ambling, really. Some folks like to wander manicured gardens, where things seem ordered, precisely pruned. I prefer little lanes that run out into slow ditches where you can soak your hot feet, or grassy paths that wind down a slope of tall bamboo and then suddenly there's a peach orchard.
Sometimes the cacophony of small birds will die down, swallowed wholly into the sky, and you can hear the slow murmur of leaves in the breathless, unmoving air.
An odor of earth graces the senses...a small miracle hushing the fret, the turbulent passions. Even the poorest of the poor can know this luxury.
In the silence, mysteries yield. They almost tell their deepest secrets. You wonder if this is a flaw in nature, a sort of missing link that might randomly connect truth with questions.
You listen hard. Your mind seeks and seeks, almost touches something, then loses the fragile thread as day wearies on. In the late shadows imprinting the ground, you sadly feel something divine let go.
Back home, the miracle gone, you feel only the tedious heat burdening the roof and resentment binding your soul at not capturing the whatever-it-was that you didn't know you needed. And now you will have to add this need, yet another fine mystery, to all the rest.
--Jo VonBargen 2012
"Beautifully written!" A poetic time capsule for future generations. Fierce, taut poetry!
FROM THIS FAR TIME (The Human Saga) http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005KJLCLC
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