It just is.

The scene is jumbled.
A fallen tree and hundreds of critters all around.
Everything dwarfs the few human actors. 
No need for explanation. Everyone knows the play is about life in the forest primeval.
The early buzz talked about a weak villain. who's not even on stage after scene one, and how hard the crew worked at building that set.


The set circles around the stage, encompasses the audience.


A hidden chorus cries out in pain, gods were injured, punishment will be hurled down on the unsuspecting, the neglectful, the uncaring.
Already, the audience is making plans for dinner dates, next week's trip to the slopes. The stage curtain comes down and everyone sighs in relief.
This play was not worth the price. It was not about them.
Later, they'll read the bad reviews, and smile broadly at their good taste.

Note for the Day:

1.Accept the day in front of you.
2. Breathe the wild sage, the heather, the sea spray.
3. Care for yourself.
4. Do what needs done.
5. Expect the path will be  challenging and keep yourself in perfect condition.

Should you peek over your left shoulder,  you'll be rewarded with an amazing view!

Questions for the experts:

For S.Rushie: If we all eat the same food, listen to the same sounds, view the same television,movies, advertising, did we train our minds the same way?

For Pirandello: If we can't stand our naked faces and can't reveal  our true thoughts, are we hiding ourselves from ourselves?

For Kundera: If lightness of being is unbearable, is heaviness of being then, quite easy to bear?

And for all of you in blogland: Can we write while we experience the surgeon cutting into our flesh, or do we only write way after, when the idea of that surgeon cutting into our flesh resurrects the entire experience?

Tell me...

You called.
I miss seeing you, you say.
I hear something else in your voice: Be brave!
And I want to be that brave.

I talk and talk and talk
ending up at the same place
the same hurt keeps my pace.
I thought I could talk about other things, I say.

You will, in time, you say
 and  a hand on my shoulder stretches
across the back
all the way around
and into my heart strings.
Yet, the sixty miles of vascular highway
sinewy nerve endings, and muscles in my legs
cease to support me.

My wound covered her carpet.

Autumn.

It is a long road
back to Summer Dreams
to that splendor in the grass
we anticipated so.

These colors
lull us to hope,
reds and oranges
and sinewy browns
confuse the next curves.

Autumn is
a courtship game,
a night at the movie house
with candy and popcorn,
wind howling outdoors,
night creeping from behind the curtains.

Only  the boyfriend sits tall and strong
driving with confidence
on slippery roads.

It's a guessing game how it will all end.