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field stream stone and flower; sky and earth, or the story that nobody reads by Brian Michael Barbeito

field stream stone and flower

an owl watches there. what does it know? it must have seen all things. the trees are high and water flows at the bottom after long paths winding. inside the summer are yellow buttercups that untouched and I don’t think anyone ever saw them, any human eye, save for me and mine. listen to the water then, the water that is fed from I don’t know where exactly, somewhere mysterious. Osho said a strange thing, even for him, which was that the water of the Ganges originates in the astral plane. he said he was also trying to part the waters in his bathtub for twenty years and nothing had happened yet. a Capricorn I believe, he had nevertheless an affinity w/water. anyhow,- this water is clean and flows. Osho said that the only good thing that ever came out of Canada was Canada Dry ginger ale, but of course he is wrong. because I saw the flowing stream and the yellow buttercups, the red sumac and the branches that the summer wind sways, makes to dance. things are sanguine and almost sacrosanct there, a break from the world. the stones are water washed and show their souls,- green and red and all magical. you can hold one or some, but mostly I leave them there. let them be. I have enough stones and not many people care about stones. outside of there lives a field,- flaxen-beige-wide and wild and sometimes birds in flocks go around. they are so confident, agile, talented, with purpose and poise and talent. they must be dancing to a song humans can’t hear.

sky and earth, or the story that nobody reads

there is a church to the left as one leaves the towns. before that the houses become fewer and more spread apart. one can see and sense that before urban sprawl there was more property and that it was more a matter of regularity meaning that’s just how it was in most places north or the city at one time. after the church there becomes nothing but fields and soon after that, forests. a deer once peeked out to cross, then decided against it and ran back into the tree worlds. but the church. it is old but kept up, w/a new roof and I am sure other important things. you can see the old tombstones outside of it. how close they made the burial grounds to the building. the grave markers begin only feet away from the church wall. though a vast land is around, they must have only owned a small part in legal realities. I never saw anybody go there. don’t the living cost the dead? or suppose they do go there at some time. yet there is a third answer. they are not as the saying goes, -The recently departed.- They are from long ago, numerous generations. If reincarnation is valid, for instance, there has been enough time for them to be reborn, lived, passed on again, and be buried somewhere else! but for then, all that’s for sure is the opaque firmament that lets out cold rain. the water saturates the grasses and each time chips away in its own way at the names and dates, at the curvature and straight lines of the headstones both, at what’s left of a story that nobody even reads.


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