Upper shelf of sky a song soft windowsill of time. In the swirl & blur of all is an answer one & many — allow. The irritation in the throat is no accident — a signal greater ready to speak. So what if it is of comfort? All has their way of attaching one page to another & the book is endless. To speak on speaking is nothing to scoff at — a wound becomes again injury if not tended. The message is do not let familiarity sweat into non-distinction — as wind is ever there & always new. Time allows space for a human to wrestle the mind into some other format. Stillness & blue. Look into the eyes of anything & understand. Look behind you for a teacher, for what ever has been gone through at the back — trails are cellular — the river that might form across the surface of a hand if water were allowed to be delicate for a time. Be in attention to all cresting, all falling. A sorting is coming, is at hand & in hand. To shed off what is no longer like throwing a frisbee. For it is true that much great growth is both chance & joy. Leave a color in field of grass for another. Wander & go. This is the very best one can do.