4.04.2015

SWEET LOSING

COLORING EASTER EGGS.

Consider the worth of the egg we hold in our hands. Our hands cupped. Calm and not knowing. Consider the egg. There is no glory in eggs, the eggs the hens bore for us, the hens.

Hens have no glory but for their witness and the fine, fine oology that resulted. The oology of laughter. Laughing, laughing, sweet sweet laughter.

A CAT RECLINES IN THE SUN.

Chickadee, chickadee.

Chickadee on the feeder is grateful for sunflower seeds, the seeds of sufferance and lore. The heavens envelop the wanderer. A bird’s journey ends with a branch, a seed, a wondering why. Cat observes from a place of exaltation, confirming the order of things, juxtaposition impossible because in sunshine there is only truth and cats and a travel-weary chickadee.

Cats are where it’s at. They know this and cannot be bothered.

HOT COFFEE.

Move the plastic bags. Shift.

Plastic seems irreverent in the moment. What one might think of this mug and its warm laughter. Laughing.

In time the weak will rise, the errant will be shown their true course and back to heaven with laughter. Somebody died in the process of demonstrating a better way, offering a better path not riddled with tautological missteps. It behooves the masses to reject fallacies, everyday malarkeys so egregious that even ugliness bows its back wracked with shame and desperation.

Learn more about plastic. Shift.

RISING.

In the end there is darkness. Silence is blinding.

Izy prompted the Real Toads to write in the style of Gertrude Stein, my favorite! Number 4 of 30 in April.