Sunday, May 18, 2014

32 toward the Omer

Netzach shebHod
endurance, ambition within humility, splendor

We drift from street to street as music floats among the neighborhood hills, a patchy aural mist in place of rain that does not come. The week waits before and after now.

Revival appears as snow peas out of a Ziploc baggie, bursts of dance, a stone path made for this one seated conversation, the first chord of a Hendrix song plucked into being

This drummer gets it, he really does, sound pulled out of moment, inherence just waiting to be cupped between hands, nurtured, brought to human awarenesses, sunflecks ever appearing on the ever-shifting waves

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