The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
LARRY 9-3-62
To say something is almost beside the point. More than eighty years have passed, and just a blip. Learning is an accretion, gathered like wild berries that grow according to the season. Wind blows through the trees, which have learned how to sway. Birds learn songs from each other, or from humans, or from passing sirens. An infant knows the sound of its mother's heart. Not knowing anything comes before that. What is your original face before you were born?
Apolitical poem
People left their fossil dragons home
with nowhere to go
they stopped farting
it made the forest grow
skyscrapers sighed
artificial intelligence was fooled
in a fit of pique
Statistics were requested in such numbers
that the stock market called a halt
blaming the pandemic
for a denial of service
actually caused accidentally
some said
by the bursting of two dams in Michigan
while others pointed, prosaically
to a surfeit of rain
paratroopers were put on alert
to protect polling stations
the weather channel explained
it was due to wind shear over moisture laden air
from the gulf of Mexico while top authorities
speaking on condition of unquestioning belief
redrew the weather map to achieve
political correctness
which I affirmed
by turning the TV set
off
Making sense can easily get sidetracked. Whose template will rule? What do the words really mean? Is there more than one definition in any particular case? Larry 9-3-62 on a paver to my right leaves no room for doubt, with a couple of hand prints pressed in for good measure. Did he know I would write this, or just take it for granted? Or maybe it was his note cast out for a future sea. He simply enjoyed playing with wet cement, knowing it would solidify the moment, and why it either does or does not matter? No doubt I'm not the only one to have come across Larry's momento. Of course it makes sense. It makes a good picture. It's set in stone, so to speak, and a couple of birds just arrived at the seed feeder, which offers a good vantage point. Robin has just landed on the fence. Late afternoon, heat wave or not, is when they all come, and the Junco on the cable wire. Robin and the Junco always chirp. Yes, I'm here. They're watching. In a straight line from the feeder to my chair lie's Larry's momento. All this activity probably has nothing to do with it. Unless this is what he had in mind. Doesn't that make sense?
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_