Yesterday I wrote here about the sensory quality of a fragrance as a lightning path to long-ago enlightenment. The nose knows, you could say. Today I’m hung up on the ear, home to the day’s, any day’s, vibrations. Certainly that’s how it was for me at the Johnson Ranch yesterday.
See here. See the sun-colored hair, Feel its ever-softness. Sense the odor of its perfectly round patty. And this, oh, glorious organ which is my ear:
Munch, munch, munch.
Munch, munch, munch.
Munch, munch, munch.
Oh, could I ever be so devoted, so single-pointed, so endless? I stood entirely still, and willed up all the silence within me. Far from the highway; far from the airport; far from the city.
Munch, munch, munch.
Perhaps my mom could have skipped the lawn-mowing lessons if only we’d had a young cow like this. Perhaps this young girl will sign up to be my second San Luis Obispo friend. She did have a conversation with my eyes, as well as my ears.
On the way back I was stopped by another sound – the wind tustling and fluttering the browned-out, not-yet-fallen large leaves of two California Sycamores loarding over the flowing stream, golden in the sun, which wasn’t there last summer.
All this and you may be wondering when the kid’s lobotomy is scheduled.
I hear you.
from a mountain bench 
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