March 1st.
A simple poem about attentiveness born from this sunny Friday on the first day of March.
Hello friends. I hope all is well. Been awhile since I’ve put something out. Hopefully the looming spring helps adjust that. Not all pieces need a full polish, at least that’s what I’m telling myself today. So, that in mind, here is a piece from this morning with some narrative accompaniment. More soon!
All the best,
- mike
How would the day be different if bird, weather, tree, squirrel; all of it had even a splice of spirit and this was taken seriously? So that there is always purpose So that there is always witness So that there is always, in proximity and in attuning, a world within the world to step into? I try and step but often the mind is foggy or I’m tense and anxious or, and most commonly, the task is met with timeline. I rush. I rush all the time. Through reading. Through meals. Through walks with the dog. As if what is on the other side has such precedence and urgency that what is right in front of me must be glazed over and moved past. This water ski mind sliding on the surface -- I wonder how I can cause myself to pummel in order to see. Meanwhile, outside the clouds are parting on this first day of March weather whispers its presence a push toward seasonal shift. Birds of which I hear at least three kinds sing to signify their place and the squirrels are looking for what they’ve hidden As it’s all revealed. that this place is: Eruption and whisper bombastic and subtle; Always alive and always alluring always able to welcome back a mind that has moved away from the deep well and gone to tizzy To arrival arrival arrival.