Telling: Streams & Logs


Being meets being

The rain I think has the answer to everything. Off my right shoulder it tinkles and somewhere the invisible bird heart cheeps. Off to the left by the back door the sound is more torrential. Water loves water. The porch can only open its arms in joy. At my back the refrigerator hums loudly, steadily. A constant companion. Selfless. Steadfast. There’s a chill along my knees and the soles of my feet, but I don’t want to leave here in search of socks. I want to sit cradled in rain song until it becomes something new. I want to remember who I am in this world. I love this white table. The way it receives me. The way light opens over it like a book. The way the grain ridges up out of the smooth plane, reminding me of complexity. The world is not a smooth stage for my unfolding. The world is its own unfolding. Being meets being.