the observational mind is the gate

not the wild dells, the fields bordered by vines and walking rivers and mountains 1/8/2024

Feeling ‘ill’ today — Cold? COVID? Flu? I don’t know — It’s been quite awhile since last I caught ‘something’

Observational Mind Is The Gate
Con/Jur/d, 1/8/2024

Not wild dells, dripping with pollen 
beneath honeyed sun
or orchestra of owl, mosquito, snort, growl and, howl 
conducted by a stripping moon, her phases 
showing, colors match to mood

You remember this
belonging place guarded by hedgerows 
of gnarl, grape, and poisoned vines
walking rivers, strolling mountains
crag and cliff, those endless ravines
reeking of wet with hint of wildflowers, sound of growing
mushrooms and geology 
ward off creeping domestication

Among this tall and ancient
community communicating 
with world breath breezes
tongues of leaf, needle and thorn
there is you, always you 

Penetrating without apology
through everything.

Much love,

Con/Jur/d, 1/8/2024