CLOSER



"Though the tree drinks from hidden roots, we see the display of its branches." Though I'm currently drawing from the underground myself--I see the blossoming on the tender boughs. It is spring and everything is uncertain...the weather flares from a steady chill to balmy sunshine. The earth is already a little lovesick with all of this rising and falling--throwing out her most luminous blooms and feathers of leaves, just to keep the sun's attention. There are these hidden roots on words, on smiles, on the delicate jade tufts of fledgling grass. Heavy choirs of indiscernible birds sing in the trees outside...so drunk on the gathering light that they continue their call and response long after the sun has set. I write a few lines, then shred the paper in jagged edged stalks, gluing them back down on the pages of my journal and inking over them...dangerous on paper. Whenever I can be outside, I am. The floorboards of the house sift clouds of mica-flecked dirt along the edges from muddy boots and battered shoes. It doesn't matter--the sun is back again--the intoxicating flowers and delirious birds. I have had to sink deeper into my own roots and now magnolias burst open from the hidden darkness. "Whatever the earth took from heaven, it yields up honestly in spring."



{two quoted sentences by Rumi...exercise inspired by the one here}