Do I see what I think I see and hear what I think I hear, or are these towhees my thoughts, suddenly taking form and substance? The friendly birds arrive from nowhere while I’m watering the geraniums. Just a few feet away, the male hops from the moss into the birdbath and starts splashing; the female sings from the birch above. And what of the geraniums themselves, and the moss, and the leaves? Are they my thoughts also? Where does it end? In the same place it begins? If so, how can a circle so small be big enough to hold it all?
July 1, 2019
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