January 30, 2011

Big old hearts

My horizon view's framed by coyote fur as I stop, fall behind, to watch the sun rise Sunday afternoon.

It lights me up again and again, always the best I've ever seen. Harps play in my head -- everybody's part of my cartoon. They're all characters worth seeing through, I know, and creativity might thrive in tragedy but this is just what's true now.

All I want to be is here.

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