perfect Saturday morning sun bouncing on my face walkers, joggers, dogs, bicycles I run my hand over a soft-leaf bush Why do butterflies never seem to know where they’re going? the sidewalk is fascinating – what grows in cracks, I kick stones there’s a gray lump ahead, a rabbit sprints across the street right by a little white dog, one ear up,the other folded down, who stares back at me How come they’re like that? stupid question from one adult to another except rig

from the molecules of a see- through liquid, water is broken by boiling and rises as steam so, it’s easy to understand why clouds are vapor white but when they turn gray then black, how does that dark source release clear-as-diamonds rain? do I really need to know? maybe it’s enough to face life as contradictory and the illogical creates a shift, blinks the eyes, shakes our rigid views of the world then a cup of tea is sure to help us settle down with a face bat

Jose of Jose and Peter is missing weeks since we talked as he watered the jungle around his property when I saw Peter, he told me, Cancer, he’s in hospice now, a place down valley and said he found him crying today, miserable from being sick, hating the facility, aching to be home in his absence, the greenery limps, leaves tongue-curled or fallen, revealing a house thirsty for paint Jose will never return, he said, and added that when the forest dies he will plant a d