Gatherings...

Driving through clouds in the valley, the baby's coos.
Khenpo's good dream.
By the Cinnamon Creek.
How I never went cranberrying, mushrooming, with my grandparents,
how I need my mind to unfold.
A cool glass of water.
He said we need to, "burst open the enclosure of ignorance and confusion,"
and in California, we all ate fire.
To ingest the sky, survive on air.
Pumpernickel Valley, Nevada.
It's 7:30 in the morning,
the days slowly unfurls,
forsythia blooms.
Earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes,
the elements, local deities uproarious.
Spring skirts and leggings and legwarmers
flowers and stripes.
Afternoon walks with the babe, mocha cappucinos.
Anticipating picnics, the sky.
How he said, "see you soon!" how it's coming true.
Pink,
tiny blossoms.
Has holiness been reborn?
How it takes a thousand years for a plastic bag to biodegrade...
And outside in the sprinkling rain, the chirping of birds, hands in wet soil.