FootprintsintheWind.com

A fart arises from the used, dead, offal matter. And yet, of life, it speaks!

:- Doug.

Story comes from my dark waters. It is a fish who stays clear of hook. It falls to me to entice, to struggle, to work, to keep the line taut. It falls to me to bring to the open, to gently unhook, to keep alive and fresh. It falls to me to kill, fillet, fry, and eat. It falls to me to take in, become, give on for life’s workings. It falls to me to die and give my bio-remains on into the circles. Yes, it is all story.

:- Doug.

Life-death-life cycles stir in conversational realms too. Starting, our together-times may be lively. But even then death is on the way. We may get dismayed when fights (that is, life calling up death) interrupt. We can murder the whole thing by giving up before the next stanza (that is, the larger or fresher life). Stanza, recall, is a standing place, a launching pier between spins of the verses. Who are we to say the song must end here?

:- Doug.