And I’m struck by how easily the profound
& the monumental, live in the same space
as the colorful & the fleeting.
Every afternoon the rains arrive —
even the thunder is quiet here.
Time doesn’t have a fixed unit,
but expands, like the belly of a leopard
perched high after a fresh kill.
Time has the face of satisfied slumber.
The endless afternoons
take up a lifetime & a day
is more pregnant than a decade.
And I am left wondering why anyone
would let themselves be consumed
by anything but the wilderness.
Originally written for The Pastry Box Project