Archive
09/22/10 - (1)
It's Not
Now, it's not 9:43, Wednesday morning, With high wisps of clouds finger-painting the soft-blue sky, Above a lake so smooth it might be liquid stasis,
And it's not September 22, 2010, Located amidst a vast northern-Wisconsin forest Of summer's green oaks, birches, maples, cottonwoods, pines,
Fast transitioning, from high-fifty-degree afternoons, Through mid-thirties nights, Into a mélange of bright oranges, scarlets, yellows, and browns,
So much as it's now — immediacy, being, existing — An ever-present presence, whose essence fills me with ecstasy, A breathing halo beneath which my spirit shimmers
Beyond the seconds, minutes, hours that tell my earthly time, A now of sky, trees, lake, air, birds, squirrels, and sand, Which, all the while, recognizes the mandate of my transience.
09/22/10 - (1)
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