A family of five wild turkeys dwelt in this valley last spring, three newborn chicks, one albino. Watched them grow, seen often through the summer. Then their homelands were invaded by an aggressor troop eighteen strong. Occasional brief territorial squabbles, tribal instincts leading to an uneasy union. Then autumn, more sparseness, but so very resourceful. Leaves winding away, their tree roosts sometimes exposed. Then the snows came, early and unceasing. Till finally, one week, only a last intrepid one was still in evidence.
First you don’t see
this light within,
you intend it.
You make word flesh.
[ Image : I came upon this image within the past week or so, but cannot for gold, frankincense or myrrh recall where. If you’ve seen the source kindly tell me so I can acknowledge the creator. ] (link)
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My solo evening meal at one of Leonard Cohen’s favorite haunts. Perhaps the main reason why I came was to figure out why I came…
[ Parc du Portugal, in the evening ; Leonard Cohen as an almost-young upstart, from his first album cover circa 1968 ; Moishe’s Rumanian ambience ; Leonard Cohen as an old upstart, performing in London to wide acclaim, aged 75. ]
A strange and blessed thing: that we can assess our own existence! Therein lies the portal to divinity, the exposing of Darwin’s mistake. For all Consequential lies are but half-truths, concealed.
have you noticed it too
These lines made me write them early last Christmas morning, while still half asleep in bed… they still seem entirely relevant and quite difficult to improve upon, so I offer them again this holiday season, having added only exactly one word. Warmest hopes and thanks to all readers. 🙂
It is the question you cannot ask which matters
The axiom you must never scutinize