the binding of a cloud, a framed sky, ‘how odd’ I think, as I plod through the mundane, a sunday night (technically monday morning), a must have for dragging out the garbage bin to the curb, the convenience we forget, the mechanisms we set, all the same by scale I suppose, I imagine an ancestor had to rake the coals to keep the fire going, or other such droll tasks as were needed, we just have upgraded versions now that separate us in levels from the land I suppose, I wonder if the lot of us was required with our plot of land to produce a certain level of edible vegetation, would that lead to more appreciation? there is a level there of making, instead of taking, and humility might be in the soil somewhere, the ground, the earth, quite literally as we work, the literal dirt under the nails, and I wonder why this is going through my mind in mere footsteps to the curb, and I look up again, the same cloud, framed there, as if bound, strange, there is a steady breeze, the new buds on the trees are vibrating, the tall ministers of the forest towering over my house are swaying, but yet this cloud just hangs there, job done, garbage can on street, back into the house – to sleep.
note… yes, sometimes I think things when doing mundane things, is that my thing? I dunno.. I just write, it is what I do, good, bad or indifferent, I breathe