In the morning, it was a bright and quiet time.
With no others, but, a splash in the pond.
"Hello friend," came a call. "Are the fish biting
this fine morning?"
"Come have a seat and we can answer together."
They sat peacefully and kept their senses all
in the tips of their fingers.

"Good morning, sirs," accompanied the
soft sound of grass underneath advancing feet.
"Fine fishermen, may I share the shade
of this noble tree with you?"
"Gladly. Please, sit. But we must insist
that you keep still as a the trunk of that tree
so as not to scare the fish away."

Some time of silence and quiet passed
without the sound of any man
not even the companions along the water's edge.

"I sense your effort, kind sirs, to send your senses
to the tips of your fingers so as not to miss
the slightest nibble from your aquatic prey.
But I must insist that in your patience, you
leave just enough sense up here
to enjoy this magnificent day."

you know what you need to do next...

...the man said.

but the world is too big, she thought to herself, lying on her back looking up at a sky that seemed either right in front of her face, about to crush her into the field in which she lay, or it was so far away that the illusion of it's mass was only a fabrication of her imagination, which, as it happens, fabricated a lot of things. I know what I need to do next, she thought to herself. And the sky diffused into an innumerable number of little invisible particles that she breathed in deep so she had a part of the big limitless sky inside herself. I know what I need to do next. The thought repeated over again in her head. After I'm done laying here with the sky . . .

beastly

what are  are you doing with those horns?
I am in the mood to hear you running down the freeway
like a panther

not a leaopard
like your spots would have me believe
clacking heels and jingling change purse

thicker skin over your heart won't do much good against modern weaponry
it's nothing like cannon fire coming from the sea

I'd stick to the black it suits your disposition
those spots attract too much attention

and you don't know what you're doing with those horns
give yourself a break
why make it harder to get up into that tree?

Cactus

...she rode through the cactus rising up from the ground. Earlier this morning, in town, she had seen the women in the carriage with her curled hair and white gloved hand hanging listlessly out the window. What a life she imagined the woman must have. What a life. The hooves tapped on the dry ground, hollow and vast...
that night, as she lay under the big sky, she thought about what it might be like in a fluffy bed with soft white sheets. She closed her eyes to imagine it. Almost wishing herself there. But when she opened her eyes, she looked up at the bright, glimmering stars. They sparkled down on her like a thousand well-wishing angels. And she knew she wouldn't change places for anything...

images

here is another entry from the same site the last post links you to-

it is a really beautifully edited selection of Sally Mann's What Remains. Though this is a series which actually troubles me in its entirety, here, out of context and edited, it inspires me. The series is about death and how our consciousness of death can make our lives more meaningful. (Kind of a Vanitas idea) These images evoke an ephemeral feeling- delicate like our lives are.

extra + : the incorporation of a Walt Whitman poem

Monday Image