This is something else. Solara is at 200 now (I know, never a half-measure) and that may be my focus for the next few posts. More on the way in terms of projects.
Such depth of knowledge
Not really.
Gross injustice
This feeling.
Slide it over
to me
through me
I am becoming wisdom
again
Letting it steep
slow drip
from a funnel
in a dark cavern
Sounds of water
I am so pleasantly surprised
So absorbed by it all
Transfixed
and transformed.
Made whole.
Today's prompt.
The flowers revealed their truth to me,
a humble listener, drinking in the tenets to
a life lived in the elements. "Don't drink
old rainwater after business hours."
My father told me to question
anything that sounded like a sales pitch.
"Gold glitters and the soul latches on
with its tendrils of avarice."
The flowers were apoplectic. "Who did
I take them for? Garden weeds?"
Why mention business hours? It seemed
like a racket to me and I said so.
My father, away on business, said "Keep holy the
separation of business and health."
I wondered aloud, "what does health mean?"
The flowers responded, "Health is the thing with
muscular legs that carries us from one commercial to the next.
We are living in a glorious time to move capital."
I took my weed eater and turned the errant garden to a finely
ripped up, dry dirt. We were praying for rain again.
I contemplated drinking the standing water, flush with the buzz
of mosquito and the dull smell of eggs.
My father once said, "to know thirst is our greatest advantage."
I wondered, as the flowers howled their apologies, their remediations
for living life in service of currency, their action-plans and committees
to become better, if I were doing the right thing. In the silence
of the hot afternoon that followed, I looked to the sky and heard the distant grumble of thunder.
