Writing fast before the household descends from it’s chambers.
The sound of water rushing through pipes, sun whispering
through gossamer mist, fertile earth, busy beneath a crust of
frost, germinates gifts, hums to it’s self – can you hear it?
Anything the body may have caught forget, along with every thought
you have. There’s only a moment in time now, close, just up ahead.
It contains within it ‘all’ sound, ‘all’possibilities, humming to
it’s self with potential, beckoning, germinating gifts.