I’ve been guilty of spoonerisms today. I raise my hand to ask a question and I cannot speak aloud in a lucid manner. I tip over my trongue. Don’t listen to my mind racing ahead. On paper, on pixel, I manage just fine, thank you.
Some days one throws out a line, and draws in nothing but a wet hook. Today, splashes, ripples around me. I cast again. I cast again. The ducks chuckle in their low voices. The cars hum by, the faces anonymous blurs. In this moment, I gather them to me.
We speak of Narcissus and the Echo. Vanity. Wanting too much. In the muddy pond, the geese float by in legions. The leaves fall catching the light, each year I am caught anew by the subtleness, each year agog. Listen to this, I say, waving the sheaf aloft.