Five Tender Apricots In A Blue Bowl,

Sometimes The Valley Below Is Like A Bowl Filled Up With Fog. I Can See Hard Green Figs On Two Trees And Pears On A Tree Just Below Me. A Fine Crop Coming In. May Summer Last A Hundred Years.

Where You Are Is Who You Are. The Further Inside You The Place Moves, The More Your Identity Is Intertwined With It. Never Casual, The Choice Of Place Is The Choice Of Something You Crave.

Any Arbitrary Turning Along The Way And I Would Be Elsewhere; I Would Be Different.

Five Tender Apricots In A Blue Bowl, A Brief And Exact Promise Of Things To Come.

One Of Those Flash Epiphanies Of Travel, The Realization That Worlds You'd Love Vibrantly Exist Outside Your Ignorance Of Them. The Vitality Of Many Lives You Know Nothing About. I Could Live In This Town, So How Is It That I've Never Been Here Before Today?