mid-June through mid-August I am consumed by mangoes the everyday search for fruit that aren’t picked are found on the driveway in the gutter bottom of the pool under bushes on walls and the roof caught in tree forks hidden in the ivy or left on my doorstep then the bagging, boxing, delivering, explanations on the cutting and eating, then accolades with chants of Bring more, bring more ask me how many mangoes I’ve eaten this week. fewer than in my farmer dreams

at this stage of human evolution, I wonder what God would say we know His viewing portal must be incredible, that humongous window, watching creation directly without TV, computer, cell phone or WIFI, easy to observe how free will, if that’s what it is, has run rampant, or if it’s all fate, will soon culminate in some spectacular finale it’ll either be an ending He knows, because He wrote and directed the script or one He’ll be glued to with popcorn and soda, commer

Have any of the sciences yet identified the source of that joy-jumping-the-flesh, screaming waving dancing bliss and ecstasy that occurs when a round ball crosses a line and enters a net? I just want to invite all of them to a giant party and say do that Gooooaal thing you do