feet on the earth

once again i have fallen from the heights. like the flaming bit of space rock that gets eaten on entry to the atmosphere. but i am still in one piece; not even the smell of char.

not even words can move the gray that surrounds me. it isn't stifling though. it is my old confidante, back to wrap cool arms around me and swaddle me in nothingness.

old wordless songs of quiet despair. i am a child again, being rocked to sleep.

evergreen

the power of rituals, even when we don't know why everyone has to sit at certain places around the table. when we don't know why the centerpiece has to sit on that old white squared off piece of fabric with the lozenges in the middle.

the power that makes us forget our power of logic and reason; that causes us to shiver behind the thought that the sun might not come back unless the sacrifice, willing, young, and nubile, is offered.

this is a strong power, unmistakable even in our ultra-modern age. we think that we are advanced so far beyond the backward piety, but every year we choose a tree as if it were something other than mere xylem and phloem.