Jane and I returned to our morning writing today. We agree the book is complete.
She is on a new exploration, writing by hand in her journal. I am still in explore, and I sit this morning and these words come, capturing my morning dream and integrating it into my life.
There is no fog here, I say over the phone,
and then the lights across the way
and the caws of the crows
and the tweets of little birds
connect and stitch what is unseen
an echolocation system
opening my mind as the fog wraps
even more closely to define
the stream that is mine.
Like a salmon
I swim upstream
and examine my morning dream.
A woman, a neighbor I have never seen puts her face close to mine,
and demands I take down the structural support of my fence.
My son Chris though years younger and smaller than the other children,
says he has to join the team and he marches onto the bus.
I remember him determined to cross the monkey bars as a child,
even though he was much younger than the others.
I sat, at the time, watching as he dropped and fell into the water trap
over and over again, and then, he was all the way across.
Now, I look up, and the fog has cleared.
Introspection is over, the dream incorporated
and folded in a pack, and today I will be the little guy,
knowing I have to do this,
cross the bars while honoring the support
of the fence.
In my case there really is no fence. The yards blend
open to skunks and deer. The hill rises,
a seat for sky.