“If I was going to write this story — the car who sits outside at 5:30 am — not picking anyone up — and leaves whenever I notice — would serve a function”
“After he brings up the Morning Glory Teaching — How the gardener thinks they’re weeds — Hedge bindweed — instead of portals to other worlds — or a portal to this one exactly as it is — I notice them growing among the Black Walnuts”
“Unbidden a story suggests itself — to claim ownership is a silly conceit — perhaps we prep the soil — what emerges may be prettier than our neighbor’s — as long as we remember — the seeds are free they just blew in — and we don’t own the wind”
“Although — being raised ferral — among free-market capitalists — I’m sure we’re trying to rewrite the story — soon we’ll charge for and be charged for the slightest breeze”
“Even our machinations are not our own — inherited behaviours — some are lucky enough to be genetically predisposed to very small hearts — the suspension of disbelief is rarely interrupted by loud cacophonous beats or the attendant roar”
“Big hearts prefer big flavors”
“We’re used to believing we’re an aberration — a virus — wholly a story — with a beginning — a past we consider a middle — and then — after now — an end”
“Maybe just maybe — there’s a different story — one untamed and wild”
“Without winners and losers — transient and always passing through the exact middle between beginning and end”
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