Imagine the clouds dripping.Dig a hole in your garden to put them in.

We are occasional like that. A lifetime of easy happiness mixed with pain and loss, trying always to name and hold on to the enterprise under way in our chest. Reality is not what we marry as a feeling. It is what walks up the dirt path, through the excessive heat and giant sky, the sea stretching away.


In the quiet that is the music of that place, which is the difference between silence and windlessness.