Semi-Daily Scribbles

The best ideas come to you when resting in the shade of an apple tree. The future is on hold as you look up to count the reds, and yellows, and greens hanging off heavy limbs. A cloud of sweetness lures the birds and worms to your tiny corner of the orchard. The future is nothing to those who dive headlong into the moment, capturing the ripeness that lasts all of one second. They do tick by, however. Seconds. They have their own way of burrowing into your sacred space and changing your mind from opened to closed. An internal censor senses a wastefulness in the way your brain has been connecting the fish in the sea, and the stars in the sky, to the windfall moldering all around you. Life, in its abundance, meets its season of decline in silence, and unawares.