I am in the hammock between two trees in Westchester NY pulled different ways by the wind. For this the hammock, me inside, swings a small way.
Behold! There is a planet, perhaps many but surely one, where stuff has jumped into life. Now we are all dreaming, that is the way; the universe is manifest, everything we do or touch is holy.
All we can know is the passion of our ticking hearts. Death is ending, life is birth, all is passing;
but I saw the trees before a sky of gray rain in wait, all fractals and spirals and swaying bodies against the dull cieling of sky, giving form to the skeletal, ready branches.
Imagine! A universe of emptiness! A dark matter place filled with anti-nothing!
And there I am! And I can drink and love and lose and guffaw before the dusty ancient vapors, a quivering heart trapped in my chest extending my involvement among incalculable, inexorable quality.
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