(So maybe there’s a different post and me and Karen C dance in quiet another time. Just a crap of this, this, this.)
It begins as a poem – Green sequoia, blue sky, slight breeze; playing…Flying off the orange zafu like a dragonfly, vast gratitude, a life by two oceans. Even when Charlie don’t surf.
Yesterday I kept coming upon little libraries and resisted, there’s book piles 100-feet high in the basement. As a kid I knew them as cellars.
My teacher and I talk about a life in the wilderness. Luck in the lottery would help. My car’s nearly as old as me.
Perhaps using italics as a mysterious preface. I’ll feel better when I fasten on the headphones and listen to Wilson Pickett’s ‘land of 1000 dances.’ All this after slipping out of bed for the day at 2:40 a while ago.
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