"Shrill as a choir of children
Urgent like the first day of May
False and inflatable feeling
Tugs at my senses, big as the Macy's Parade..."
- Bright Eyes
Life is better since I put my altar right.
There is a peace in sunlight and wind and brilliant green, of letting the hum and buzz of life rush over and through.
But it is urgent. Behind or under or below that stillness, there is vibrant singing, desperate want. Trees are serene, perhaps, but leaves are vicious, reckless, demanding. On the smallest levels they are all screaming more, and so am I.
More of that, please. I want more light and touch and sound and taste. I am greedy, taking everything that I can, every opportunity to say yes, to abstain from rest, to absorb the sun of activity or conversation.
The world is greedy, too, asking more and more of me, and I am breathless with all that I can't keep giving, except that giving and getting are mostly the same, and every time I open my mouth and ask for more, I get it. I give it. We go on.
I suppose I can sleep in the fall.
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