Dogs Got to be Fed Moment

2024.08.06

Good morning that wonderful way.

And here we are again. Angels in the outfield and sup on the table gonna write this long long fable.

Light spring rain in the summertime ain't no reason ain't no rhyme.

Though, maybe it's time for some rhyme.

There's Abe again, talking about Abe, that babe that dog on the loveseat while the birds go cheep cheep cheap there's a sale at some store somewhere, setting up the displays for market days in some small town, doin it's best to impersonate the big town blockbusters, all in a fluster how do you set this sign straight, where best to put it to get the most attention?

Sleep came and went.

Long hard easy on the eyes sleep.

Dreams for supper time.

Schemes for other rhymes.

The words...

I wrote months ago on that violinist who wakes and waxes her bow and strums the strings with no intent other than to hear the potential of music, just to hear the notes.

And here I am with words for notes, tip tap typing my delight to set them down, set them right.

Writing something to you.

What would I say to you today but good morning and take it from there?

There are check lists, itineraries made days earlier, agreed upon ways to enjoy this day.

But that was yesterday.

What's today want to do?

Perhaps some coffee and smiles at sunrise will disagree.

Perhaps there's just you and me.

Perhaps it's only pressing down keys all day to see where they take you.

Perhaps the day is full of perhaps.

Perhaps the Summertime is the full stretch for the sun and sitting at the top of the effort and fall is a letting go.

You got to let go to drop down.

Each leaf is dressed in its Sunday best to return to the floor of the church called Mother Earth.

We all share a church called life; walls made of time to bust out our rhymes.

There he goes again bringing up the divine again.

Nah, why cast light on obvious things when there's words to set down.

Yesterday went well.

Frustrated in the vacuum I live in, but small accomplishments for a greater goal were made.

So call it a good day.

I don't know that each day will make it to the blog, each entry I mean.

Sometimes the words are just words, just a soothing serum to set me right by writing.

Words pressed, a lot of pressing to punch out some stability of breath to see the next moment through.

The dogs got to be fed moments.

The words ought to be read moments.

It used to be I'd tell you I'm always doing two things, writing or not writing.

Used to be I'd tell you the same thing right now.

So, I do.

Time for a bit of not writing.

Think I'll do an afternoon, too.