Fingers Catching On The Sandy Grain Of My Hymnal

You're the only person in this universe for whom I give more than the absolute minimum of an obese rodent's rectum.

Guess that makes you my best friend.

That kinda scares me in a way.  I'm not used to caring about someone that much.

But I'll make an exception for you.

And damn, that makes me so happy!

Winter Sunday Night

Steam rising through the grates. Sun setting in the steam. Sparks flying in the mist. Hearts burning in the clouds.

And it's just a winter night, when the weather is too warm. And we're hoping for the spring. But it's a million miles away.

Please wish me how to die. I'll love you if you do. Please toss me in the sand.  The moon is rising  just for you.

The Tree Is Dead, Long Live The Tree

They tore down the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree Saturday night. I watched a time lapse video the next morning, the tree dying in the dark.

Raised in honor, lit in peace.

Three weeks later, the crane sending it to eternity. Which means a hell of a different thing  to trees than it does to humans.

Trees have much better memories. The Lakotah called them "The Standing Still People.

The Third Night Of The Year

I haven't put up Christmas decorations in years, but every year I do put the Christmas cards I get on my altar.  They look so warm and bright when a candle is burning alongside the Buddha.

Tonight I took them all down, and now the altar looks empty. I saved some, tossed others in the recycling. The room looks a little more forlorn now.

Then I looked out the window at the soggy winter raindrops hissing their way along the cold sidewalk. Across the street there's a few dead Christmas trees lined up on the curb, rainwater dripping through the sideways branches.

They just look sad.