STRANGE NEW WORLDS



When the night cools, the wind breezes in and the electrical lights flicker and dance and most are yet still. Walkers and dogs, strange foxes and feral creatures alike, skirt around the edges of townships. The infrastructure is well wrought and the humans have encroached far and wide. Oh deer, oh coyote, oh wildflower still blooming and hoping for a longer summer sun and run and fun. How many insects and bees, lady bugs and ants, wander the dark countryside? I saw an old man today, walking, weathered, alive, slow, looking in the grass by the sides of one lane highways. What was he looking for? Hard to know. There are chickens and wild cats, - rocks and so on. I remember the old men of the beach with their metal finding machines, - looking for small treasures on the beach. He reminded me of something like that. Bearded, grey, nicely dishevelled down by tractors and bales of hay, - our eyes briefly met. Where is a rainbow in the sky? Where is the karmic-twin-other? Her eyes have life, mystery, and run deeper than she even knows. When the night cools, the wind comes and threatens a bit of rain, - yes, - the fox, feral and limber and agile and spry, - some kind of totem maybe, - or just a fox in the night (and it’s a long night of sleeping and awake dreams, visions, stories, poems, remembrances and other, - skirts around the edges of these strange new worlds.



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