once we are untethered from this land, this earth, this gentle crust that has so cradled us, bound not by laws of man and nature, released from the bonds of gravity, perhaps only privy to the forces that guide energy, there is only the all night, daunting, no, the canvas on which, for there is no sunset there, out there, beyond our protective dome, in the complete dead calm sea of everything, space, space unto space into never ending expansion, and we shall go, maybe there are shepherds there as well, certainly paths to go, but no, there are no sun sets there, and no true to us eyes to see them, there is only dawns, perpetual on different spectrums, distance means nothing when time means nothing, and there we will be, drifting in a sparkling sea, a divine conjuring of a coruscant dawn
the waning late summer sun resting on the face of a golden still pond this- is- calm… (pause; inhale… hold… hold… exhale…) “pinch me my darling, for surely I travel in the realm of dream” but no, a sweet captive of the great blue marble cast out upon the blackest sea.
notes.. and never forget, we are all on the miracle ball, sure, other life is probably out there but hey, for all we know right now we might be alone, and this is the gift of our home, the goldilocks zone, this wonderful place, even the grittiest corners are better than the alternative but we should strive to bring light to all… at least that is what I see when I catch a quick reflection of a sunset in a pond off the parkway on the way home, horrid traffic, angry drivers, asphalt plows that have flattened forests, but nature still remains, look around… (and this piece wrote itself when I was driving home on the parkway tonight, right before exit 135 (clark) there is a body of water, a pond I suppose, not sure, but it is there, I would love to photograph it, or film it, but pulling over there would be dangerous, but it looks so alluring every day, it makes me smile, the sun setting over this little unknown body of water, regardless of what is going on in the world, there is windows there, thanks to nature, look through them for a little relief… the opportunities are there)
wrought iron ancient tower in look sold and bought at a garden center in years I might have forgot some winters to fill you up going bare barren for an entire season no good reason, just the passing forgetting to refill the silo forgetting t’was even there, at times the nature of gravity and consumption in the wind, swaying
a common winter night not an occasion to stop- so filled to the top and spilt over not a delicate affair no, certainly not like an old man in the park shuffling hands in a paper bag, for company more organized perhaps but much the same rouse much the same draw
and I can not control those who come who find this rest stop and sometimes a flurry a gang of rooks, a jail break frenzy romp rather than the gentle sweep and peck the subtle moves of anxiety the back and forth with caution of those who might be prey or at least garnish so little ones bounce from limb to perch or a big blue jay swoops in also on the lurch
sometimes I wish- to script upon the seed with the breed I wish to attract oh, silly me haven’t we all done this very same act? (in our own reality)
based on the real, just my bird feeder swinging on the tree outside my bedroom window and the implications there… life is a strange and wonderful thing. so…. what do you think ?
and for any noobs: (I promise to be gentle) I write in flash form, maybe my work is not perfect but it is a flash photo of what comes out of my mind and pen (ok, keyboard mostly)… so, just so you know how it works around here, this is all just me throwing my breath out there, so if you read all this, or any of this, thanks for your cherished time, I appreciate it.
guaranteed a seat at the table however, with this game of poker the odds are stacked the player never wins the question is who is the house? (and who let you in)
just a quick one that popped in my head… so what do you think? about a rigged game? but the house exists so…
if I could live my life over again would I be the only one or given a new life an empty page or might I prefer to hold the knowledge I have gained, to start in soil as a sprout without the memory of the tree that spawned me and set me free upon this earth as a plotting acorn a cloud of dandelion seed a coconut carried to a different shore on an indifferent sea, or spirit energy transformed back to light and reborn from forth a celestial womb to begin the cycle all-together and all anew (on the universe’s cue)
notes… now that I have been birthed, and know my worth (the universe decided I was ok to be born, I am here), should I trust that to be reborn again- or in some other form. thoughts ?
that, so hear! riding on the wind, the cry of the wolf rises up on the moonlit night piercing all forward and all behind crests effortlessly over my ramparts and walls directly into my soul directly to my heart;
for the grey that inhabits my crown for the once saplings now laid down with leaf for seasons past and lives have cross’t, that pierce of hers- the cost does haunt;
still, might I lie mostly wake thoughts can hardly break the lure of that call of the earthen core herself- nor noble sword for which I held nor conquered foe for which I thought I felled upon my knees can not relent spine down my soul can not repent;
for she shall always be my queen;- in times of youth when all was the golden eternity was upon and nothing spent the perfection of lying together in our bed at night, until the soft light morn the supple fit of our perfect form, how insidious human works did invade that space worldly words n’ deeds the insurrection led by my disgrace;
a guise, so easy to see with hind so easily remembered, twice fold in kind a fool’s errand to decide by one the best for two rather than raze the building to see again the gleaming foundation; (abandoned dream) a fate of two disparate streams that became a river spilled into an endless ocean of the unity of love dried up in a short sighted season of my famine the destruction of a singular decision is more than a scar heavier than an anchor of the base most stone a crushed trachea trained under heavy breath, like a collapsed tunnel under a grand mountain’s ground;
sometimes there is the air of escape, from miles, from towns, in the arms of others, but when, that call hears out, and reaches these ears I can not bear to wonder what else, and despair.
notes… I shall never forget, I want to, I want to find that next love, but it has not materialized so far… I feel I am wired different, time and years feel like nothing to me, although not everyone is wired the same way, today could be yesterday or the day I left her, it all feels the same, regardless of time and space…
am I just a gallant buffoon or a stark raving prancing baboon shaking my glowing red ass under the auspice of a harvest moon without the pride earned by rudolph nor the purpose with which to lead except into a tail spin speed corkscrew map points to the ground round ‘d’ round ‘d’ round the night a carousel, a bumblebee in flight for one passenger though my bags packed with thoughts all they might find, in a crash in the dark compacted into this little black box that lies, in abject presentation and so I will dance, which for the diminish, succumbs the coma of night is comfort the comfort of numb.
sometimes we all act the fool, in jest I must accept not reject this abject part of my humanity… for at best I am my worst and my best is met beyond my expectations my pet, but I bet I do not know anything yet, with four decades under belt I have felt many things and still stumble like a child learning first steps, because there are always more first steps, there is always first steps unless you live life standing still, but then you would be a dummy, both figuratively and literally… or maybe just a man named quinn…
time to put away the winter things sleds in sheds boots in darkness closet corners full less dress car packed full an adventure to take under the summer sun
notes… went back in my time machine, well, not really, of course, I WOULD share that with you, if I could, of course… but I pulled up an old snippet from the year 2019 and it spoke to me, I guess, sub-consciously, and so this came about, of it, that union of my own old thought, and now, how things change, and will, always, move forward, so I should, I am trying… how hard, depends who you ask, who wants to be honest in all that, who wants to push, even if we know the cliff could be right there, I should get busy, have more urgency, but I wrap myself in the every day race and tail, reflecting on it does not move the needle, which I need to do before I am quite dead, literally.
so- should I? marry you death- now or then why wait? why the rush? inevitable- the perfect mate; fate- so let the courtship begin and never end. unless I should begin again; reincarnation or resurrection- so let the lantern be lit so I may follow into the path of light.
Shades of My Garden 