Sacramento Valley, California |
Germs on the surface of things. Which things? We never know, really. Disease in our lungs. Still, the rain on the hills form streams, and the streams feed creeks, then rivers. Then the ocean. Can the rain wash away our germs? I wonder about this, but I don’t ask.
--
Rain against the window. My wife is laughing in another room. A sadness for the mounting grief in the world. Things that tell me I am still alive.
--
A lone goose passes by up above
And yells down at me,
“Hey! I’m up here, you know.”
“Yes, you are.
And not a moment too soon.”
Some days are like that, aren’t they?
The sun shines out royal,
The music takes you and lifts you up,
And every stray dog is your friend.
Some days even the goose is right on time.
--
Quiet. Late. I can hear the northbound freight train, the track is but a mile off. How strong and lovely, the sound, and then when it passes, silence again.
--
4:06 AM.
A Delta breeze. Stars. Few Clouds.
My Redwood trees dance just a little
As if they wanted to sashay their skirts
Above the dance floor of Mother Earth
James Lee Jobe
I prayed like a man walking in a forest at night, feeling his way with his hands, at each step fearing to fall into pure bottomlessness forever. Prayer is like lying awake at night, afraid, with your head under the cover, hearing only the beating of your own heart.
Wendell Berry
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