The last month or so has gone pretty swell. Have eased into the job and find myself happy to be there, of some use and purpose. Taken a hike or two in the area, where everything has swelled up, green, flaunting. Actually begun cooking a bit, a little grilling here and there, some veggies tossed in, organic eggs and all healthy like. So yeah, I'm functioning at a decent clip. At times I miss being caught up in my head, the agonizing intellectualizing. Though only at times. And I seem to finally slow down a bit, catch my self back in that other, previous world, of words and ideas when I get chance to catch a poem here or there.
But now, when I walk, I start to ask for the flowers by name.
"Lucky life is like this. Lucky there is an ocean to come to. Lucky you can judge yourself in this water. Lucky you can be purified over and over again. Lucky there is the same cleanliness for everyone. Lucky life is like that. Lucky life. Oh lucky life. Oh lucky lucky life. Lucky life."