Clearing

I wonder where will the birds go when this space here is clearer. What will they eat instead of dwarf tamarillo? I wonder what I will watch from the kitchen window at the back of my house. 

The baby cardinals, they fly all the way to the ground. Even those recently born chase each other, gray and red. They stay close together.

My view will be better, a relative word for certain, still I think that being able to see all the way to the fence will open something up in me. Space will open for plants in pots. 

This cajun hibiscus I have split in four will produce dinner plate flowers and these flowers will attract butterflies and their eggs will create caterpillars and these caterpillars will attract more birds.

Maybe the way is always the same. Maybe clearing is a distant relative to the way space gets filled in, to the way a forest catches fire, to the way a snake sheds his skin. Could snakes be any other gender? Are there they snakes? Maybe. But I have always seen a snake as a man, even in an aquarium, even with a little white mouse between his teeth.

There has to be life for me to see. There has to be a letting go and a shedding in order for me to move on, to let go, to rid myself of everything from books to bottles to cans that I might plant in. 

Some day. These words can be dangerous. The way I hold onto objects for someday and these objects pile up and rob me of right now, for their energy contains the future and the future unvisited contains anxiety, and anxiety is no way to build anything.

You know when grass rises up through cracks in the sidewalk and the eye tells the brain or the brain tells the eye that this life needs to be stripped in order for me to make sense of this path? So do I. 

Right now is fun. Take the Popeye’s bag that blew onto the Corner Project. I saw this and knew it could become part of the earth, that the worms would convert this brown paper into soil, and so I took some living chips and some native flower seeds and I spread these along with that former chicken holder. 

The person who threw that bag from the window likely nevered consider that it would become a flower. So much depends upon what drops becoming a flower.

So much depends up a bee, a tree, evening.

Seems that in this moment, words depend upon former reading, and what a way to consider and configure what exists within the brain. There is supposed to be a way to compartmentalize what you think, to create rooms in your head where memories might be stored, to study for a test or to remember something in business. People say that games keep the brain strong.

Maybe this clearing away, the new view of the same birds, a greater access to sun and flowers and greens to eat will open pathways that have been blocked and who knows what might happen then. I know that I will report back, this study done on my own brain, on my own sense of what comes to humans when the opportunity for photosynthesis increases.