Some far off
birds singing and talking to one another and perhaps to the day. The beginning,
end, and middle of the path are barren in that there are no folks. Maybe people
travelled northwards. It’s a perfect day there and the wildflowers literally
sway a bit in the breeze. Nothing caustic, lurid. Instead, all is bright. The
puffy clouds sit in the deep blue firmament. A farmer has even created a new
path that circles around the outskirts for dogs and people and shape and
design. He is not there then. But his work is. Like the unseen seer, or the
watchmaker of creation. He is in all his creation, is his creation. No frogs or
snakes, coyotes or even squirrels are seen. Maybe they rest. Lots of insects.
Out in the wide fields there is not much escape from the sun save for a bit of
shade in the tall grasses green under some old Pines. Far away are cities. Far
away is the troubled psychic discord of too many people. Run, run around the
wildflowers. The larger dog takes off in a spring. He has found his moxi,
verve, daring, enthrallment, magic, movement, momentum, mojo, and majesty. The
other, his faithful and pure hearted sister, takes off after him. Run and run
and run they do.
----------------------------------------------------
Brian,
ReplyDeleteA nice short piece - succinct and to the point - the watch - the watchmaker - the running dogs in time with the tick-tocking and humming youniverse.
Peace
John