When I was about ten or twelve, I had a ten-gallon aquarium. In it were zebra fish, little darting neons, tetras, a sword fish, an angel fish, a scavenger, and a bright and very friendly silver dollar — these were their names, at least as I recall them. The angel fish and silver dollar were small when we brought them home, but they grew rapidly, the angel fish becoming stately and elegant, the silver dollar turning into a big shiny comedian that, day or night, always hurried to greet me at the glass.
Around that time, I had the idea to read the entire Bible. I loved the King’s English. But a few verses and pages of Genesis were enough. I rolled up my pants-cuffs. They filled with dust — weed seeds, lizards, bits of brush. And that was just the Beginning. Last night I dreamt I was looking at an old vine stump; I was amazed at how much it had grown. I felt its shaggy bark. It was not unlike my own.
Is my life a book? I remember turning pages. But did I read them all? Am I now?
February 11, 2020
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