Sultry night. A pastiche of fulsome smells embroidering the air with a memory here, another there, all helter skelter. She left for work this afternoon asking me why I was sad, an acknowledgment rather than a question. My reply, I don't know. A heart can be heavy and light, I should have answered, a paradox generated by time-senses come alive from the awareness of movement, a brusque break with the routinization we use to tamp those senses and convince ourselves we're immortal. I see nothing but transience tonight. Excitement, apace last night with caution, lunges past it, fueled and foamy around the rippling mouth while the abandon the reward for a resigned course suffuses me. We're all frangible bits of flesh and dream, imagining that the former keeps us whole when the latter alone negotiates with no oblivion, leaving the work of decay to molecules.
Sultry night and I'm symbol and sign, kin to pollen and gnarled tree limb, unto myself beloved and lover. Vespers and I swirl as one. Wind is my transportation, reigns I grab at whim, disembarking the same. All I ever was resides as will in the motion of every particle, every orchard's burden, every peasant's sigh, every Cypress calmly defying paltrier expectations. Joy! The percussive past reassures me, Joy!
When left to fend for my soul's purchase as a child, how I became indebted to my parents for the independence granted from any one thing, enslavement to all. On the cusp of an old adventure in tress to appear new do I thank all for owing all. In purity, without solicitude or want, am I by a duty Absolute absolutely free.
And so, yes.
