Inspiration is an open letter box. Inspiration. I've been writing email poems to broken sticks in the trail to the garden. Soon I'll go into the back yard to harvest Zinnias, Zinnies as Onie would say. Her Silas was this sort of Bible worshiping man. I was thinking of him, on my drive home. Listening to this new channel for me, Christian music. I really promise there is not a bit of me that identifies Christian. Though they read a verse from Peter, and it reminded me there is a lot of good in that book. Book. It was about forgiving people who will never apologize. Then they read something about the devil being in that situation of not apologizing, but also in the not forgiving. What a rambling paragraph. Anyway, I never wanted to believe in Satan, but maybe the Christians are right. I don't know. But Silas is right. I'm not sure what he thought on Satan, but I reckon he thought there was one. Thing is, we all struggle internally. We might be thinking about these things, God, Satan, as external forces, but I guess I am understanding that we have Satan in us, if we have God.

Friends are Sticks

to Wren

Friends are like sticks,

and it sounds funny

but some people collect sticks.

Until it doesn't sound funny.

Until, we write "well duh"

with our short leaded sticks

and we walk home

leaning on sticks

or we bend over and see

the reason -

they are beautiful.

Then we look at the other half

lying in the path

on the other side of our brown boot.

Snapped in two,

and we apologize

not enough,

and thank God for the beauty.

Not enough.

And we hobble home

with our sling

full of sticks.

I was trying to define whether I am in a time of opening but I think the correct word is growing. What seeds in October? Greens, at least in my Dad's garden in South Carolina. You can't really start cabbage outside in October. Better to try in June to get those seeds going. They take a little more maintenance.

Our inner workings are the ocean and the shore. Our emotions and psychology and minds and hearts and souls. That is the whole world. For so long, I see myself as a slug inside a shell. I can see nothing but my darkness, a little light shines through from time to time. It's just a snail I am identifying with this day or month or year. Places I have been, feelings I have felt that seem to be gone forever, skills I once had or now have. Everything is a fleeting phase. We are flickering here and there always. There is no permanence. But we appear to be.