Saturday

This morning there is no place waiting for me except where my feet take me or where my car seems to go of its own accord. I notice iris stalks in the cold air beside the gas station driveway and lemons in a small tree across the street. None of them have any plans for me or anything to say, and that is fine because things real are given in silence, and the silence of this morning is a great blue bowl filled with earth and sky, and the silence of the lemons and iris stalks is one of mutual respect of pure being in all of us. Pine trees in the distance wear luxurious fir coats, the mountains' far outline is jagged and wild, and there is everywhere to go and nowhere