49: Glimmer

Don't know much about it

now -

no I don't know about religions.

I don't pray but

do talk

to myself. And

when I do,

I'm in the quiet,

under a surfeit of sky. That's my place. Maybe it's cloudy,

maybe not. Night or day don't matter. Usually

I'm thinking

how amazing that the world

is curved, so big

and round; we're all walking in a circle and

I come up over these

hills

looking at the rise and fall of

a field, grass

blades

licking my finger tips, Queen of the Prairie just below,

a crow

and I feel

the blue above, so tiny beneath a storm of lights

on forever; heard tell

there's star dust everywhere. You believe that!

I start wondering if stars is just lying on my skin,

sitting on me

now; and you might think

this funny but I don't wanna wash no more accept

in the smooth rock

silver soak of that stream out there;

drag a traveling world across me; you can laugh;

anyway - Usually

I'm taking the long route to home; I like to move,

you know,

I become superbly involved; you know, get real in, centered until

the only

things can shake me from

communion

with thoughts and concerns and my sky

is a smell or a

sharp sound or

something happens just right!

Fireflies, ladybugs, you know -

and invariably

rips me back, for a moment,

to my childhood: just running in that field.

Leaves me feeling pleased to a tickle.

I get distracted. Just talk

at myself, I guess.

But tell me

about

this praying

of yours;

what is that. Truly, I would like to know.