There is an inspired line from a Billy Collins poem that speaks of devoted ants following him home from the woods one occasion. Sitting down with my own pen and paper, I began to ponder what had followed me home this day. It was a morning rife with unremarkable markedness. A glorious hike in the crisp morning air. Two stealth skunks crossing my path - their odorous aroma transmuting into flora. A sparkling sprinkler catching me delightfully by surprise. Engaging in the practice of getting lost and being found. Amazement and awe at the summer colors bursting and blooming. The ineffable beauty of compatriots surrounding me.
A stream of images continued with ramshackle headstones adorned in garish flowers - surreal and everlasting. Simple rocks formed into crosses, nearly invisible yet ever so present by the side of my path. A scar unveiled. Winged magpie. Parade of cooing rooftop pigeons. An unidentified flock swooping across the cotton-sprinkled azure sky.
While walking today heaven surrounded me through my senses, then followed me home like a trail of generous ants marching across the page.
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1 comment:
I am looking back at the ponders I missed... Say more about the "practice of getting lost and being found," please?
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