No fires on the forest horizon but beautiful blue smoke emanating from inside.
Vibrations at perfect complementary pitch from subatomic strings behind eyelids to moans and screams echoing across the pine tops.
7 hands, 49 positions, 2401 ecstasies, infinite beauty & kind clear light with generator on or off.
I thought a bumblebee in flowers near the porch sounded like a moose calling from distant woods, we’re a long way from Manhattan.
Smooth strides calm intelligence going about cabin firetower tasks, full bookcases, those eyes, that body, those hands, that love.
Rock & rolling across the galaxy like next week we’ll be 3,000 miles apart, like neutrinos shot from the sun that will stop for nothing and no one.
Like nothing, like emptiness, like total joyous effort, like no thing known or unknown, like the orgasmic energy of the universe is present
in every touch or stroke if only the air is clear & we are ready to receive it & we are.
In a small luminous cabin, atop North America’s skull, Nose Mountain,