Felt compelled this morning to listen to the crows,
crazy cawwing from cold country woods, but Work called.
Wanted to sit idle, watch grey skies as front blows
through, clouds shifting until new weather patterns stalled
and heavens drip half-frozen rain. Wanted to watch oaks
stand there, growing beyond my own recognition,
naked fingers outstretched. Needed to smell fire smokes -
cedar, scrub pine, and scrap wood combined emission
from sanctified pit I ought to sit around more
often, but Work's always calling, living detached
from natural roots, focused on what's in-store,
fastened to unsustainable future, mismatched
from what "me" is at heart. Heart ignored because Work's
calling; but knowing learned ways are false always lurks.
1 comment:
I LOVE this one.
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