The mountains welcomed me, “You’re back!” and promised me they’d have my back, should some Great water way — or two — recede, retreat, or otherwise act as cowards for too, too long.
Oh, harim, how they cried to me, spoke truth to me, “Here’s Jenny, an ally to thee.” At once the Sun shone once again, as I embraced my Westward friend.
Her shores were rocky, her waters cold. But I, at midpoint, felt less old — and trampled — then. And my ears acquiesced.
For t-w-e-n-t-y years before, life’s fog obscured Jenny’s lore. She sang it then, she sang it now: “Courageous woman, to the path you’ve chosen, the mountains bow.”
What might we share?
Except for some source of light
And the cello muse
I won’t pretend to know
I like soft things
You like the edge
I’m drawn to abbeys
You’re from the deep
I flirt with irreverence
You respect me
So maybe we could stand
A day or year
A treaty, here
Praise The Rock from which The Water flows
Not far from Jordan
Step one, get weird with it. This belongs to you all, after all.
Step two, present yourselves ￼all ways, every day, at the same time.
Step five, step five?! Yes, step five — there’s nothing linear or logical of this.
Step five, show the canvas of man what these years of kinship mean.
Step six, dip your brush in cool, cool water, then choose the color violet. Or orchid, because you are bold, or you want to be.
Step three, make a space in advance, or in the moment, or not at all. The whole Earth was prepared for you.
Step four, never end before you’ve finished, or for forever, whichever comes first. Last.
Step seven, relay your love for The All of them. Take responsibility and fight again tomorrow with the sunrise.