• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 01
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This morning earlier and now with the light going

Was it just this morning after barn chores that I wondered what if I
stretched myself my legs and arms high—higher—than the pines grew
higher than the southbound geese flew, what if I piped myself up
tip-toe tall into the soft sky’s translucent swaddle, would I let on
that I saw the beauty of this old world, would I tell you this:
we are all winged and red-feathered, wind-light, we are all tiny
against the stars flapping endlessly against a ceaseless wind, little
and fierce, searching for a quiet branch on this spinning island

I never know where I’m going, isn’t that how the forests
grew, trusting the warm soil and the only direction that mattered:
up? So we go and we go, we talk a lot and we compare prices
on cushions or buy stocks to invest in or bake cookies, do that or
this and make up a life out of earth's largesse, oh we are
tiny and so beautiful and often so wrong. Why don’t we sit here a
little while and watch the boats come and go, the waves wash this
island. Dusk is coming down along the dune, but we still have some time.