Thursday, June 11, 2009

Gregory Canyon Morning

In the woods I feel like a philosopher, all perspective, wily and grizzled. There are no cannons or fortifications of flesh and bone. The universe' missive is clear and cold and comforting. "we perish each alone" she says through the brook pounding it's way down the canyon, through the million solitary pines who brush each other in the breeze, but never speak. In this stoic house I watch and weep, ponder and rejoice, at the beautiful tragedy each day brings.

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