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Words



In my heart the words move seamlessly through chambers and emerge as clearly as  the song of bells

ringing and ringing each other as if rung from the most beautiful mountain; smell of pine and softest wind

drawing the eye up to ragged tears of black silk flying against a calm winter-white sky, silk handkerchiefs disguised as crows

flying in a pattern so perfect it doesn’t seem like a pattern but random and exquisitely impetuous,

flying over bellsong in this clean air, from the cathedral of the mountain, unbroken sound of the creek and everywhere the lingering smell of green things

flying like little torn-off pieces of the night sky going back to dusk and sunset

flying, an innocent miracle if there ever was one, this flight of crows,

more innocent but no less miraculous than words.



The BEST holidays

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