The day is shorter than most, the air clean, like an Indian summer, unexpected. The leaves drift to crumple and fade, the years, the changes come as swift as the Earth revolves, and night, sleep. Drifting through the web with no attachment points, the nodes alight when boundaries are crossed, their silken fur glistening as they draw the nectar. I bring more. I farm the fields, hunt and gather, teach…
P a U H a N a – the time you enjoy when the work is over.
So peaceful this life, this afternoon on the plaza. I find these quiet moments poignant, defined by an enormous density, a vacancy, an abandoned feeling that requires a heavily developed environment and a lapse, a hole, a careless attitude, an attraction to emptiness – tide pools, trash piles, stray dogs, stray hours, birds, squirrels, beasts who only exist to prove out a mechanism; a feeding pattern, wingspan. You can’t live another life.
Not content to circle the small fields, I strap into a thousand jets, blast above the quiet oceans. The distances are great. The love is great.
M a H a L o

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