I feel the rhythms of nature tapping me on the shoulder. They call me back to a perceptive state in which I no longer remember what had been simmering at the edges of my mind only moments before.
Hanging in the air, suspended on thermals, our neighborhood turkey vultures come in a disparate flock home to roost each evening. They transpose across the sky without moving, shifted by the winds. Each bird form moving independently but bonded together through the gestalt of the form, remixing the collective abstract notion of “bird” in relationship to the deep sky and waxing moon.
Observing the flocking birds twinges sympathetic images of bubbles forming on our back patio. The ephemeral time-worm-bodies stretching out and defined by unseen currents before ceasing to exist.
The motion of the unseen around me shows itself only as a reflection of a reflection, translated through an interpreter. I may not be able to decipher the causes or the connections, but I am grateful for the attempt at communication. May I continue to be receptive, to recognize the moment, and to be still within the never ending flow.