HELLO!
There
is no map. No sign posts. No demarcation lines. No compass with its spinning dial
pointing North South East West.
And yet, it is there, this country of self. This vast expanse of desert we cross on the way to meeting
ourselves. The African plains
studded with thorn trees: squat, a bit twisted of limb. The ones with the spotted owls in them,
eyes as big as saucers, hooting the night in and out. This country where inch worms glow. Where women walk down Parisian
boulevards holding parasols over their heads. Where coal turns into diamonds. Soot into smoke.
Wood into ashes. Where wild
horses storm across prairies. Where groundhogs come up searching for
spring. This country is there for
us. This internal landscape of the
big and small. Where, if we are
lucky, we stumble upon ourselves and say hello.
Suki
2006 and Yes, Again in 2015
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