Imagine

‘You cannot live the same life you imagined.’

I wake and imagine the beach empty, no people, geese, coyotes, dead fish or dogs. Already I am anxious. The geese are on the narrow strip threatening; gander, lame goose, two fluffed goslings. I blow myself up with raised wings and pull the dog into the muddy hill.

I walk imagining solitude. Half way down the beach frenzied thoughts are not my own. Hijacked I turn to the lake and shake myself like a dog. It is Sunday, my day to do nothing. This one thing I steal from God.

On the deck, I imagine peace as I read with bird song, beating wings, sun warmed wood and coffee.

I say Sunday like a blaspheme.

He has those earmuff blocking, hard plastic, save your ear, not mine, things and probably music piped in contraptions I have not imagined.

Riled up.

I have not imagined the perfect day to whipper snip the harbour grass below the yard. This small peace shattered.

My small piece shattered.

Here I am, doors shut, windows shut.

The birds wordless through glass mixed with sun, green and sublime sky.

I imagine the delicate center of getting and wanting, my still point where the pendulum rests, neither imagining or accepting.

This life with wild lame furious geese on my path.

Imagine

xoLA

 

 

 

 

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