My views are different now. Time in town is not infrequent but usually brief. I miss a lot of things I used to see, on a lot of levels. My views are still really good, I still see much.
I'm raising chickens, but the thing is, they all sort of look alike (please don't tell anyone that I don't really know them apart on any given day). I mean, they are bred to look that way, to give the eggs they do, that's who they are and I'm glad they are who they are. But I still don't know who they are.
|Unrequited chicken love|
|Checking out her finery|
|Iguanas are related to cats on a certain level. I'm sure of it.|
There is a wonderful poem, called Corson's Inlet by A. R. Ammons, that I think about a lot here on Culebra. This is one part that came to mind yesterday:
I see narrow orders, limited tightness, but will
not run to that easy victory:
still around the looser, wider forces work:
I will try
to fasten into order enlarging grasps of disorder, widening
scope, but enjoying the freedom that
Scope eludes my grasp, that there is no finality of vision,
that I have perceived nothing completely,
that tomorrow a new walk is a new walk.
Scope eludes my grasp. That's a good thing.
Have a widening Wednesday. Do something within reach, without strings.