Pay too much attention to the world and it will make you frantic, then ridiculous, then deranged.
At Story Time at work a little boy told the other babies that penguins make long bleats like goats. Then he brought his two hands together and flickered out his little fingers like flippers and ululated and we all joined in, 22 of us racketing and caterwauling like no penguin ever on this earth.
The polygon flowers of tulip poplars are falling from their high branches right now, dropping from the sky. There are animals everywhere and light and birds and sun and moving water and moving grasses high as your waist in fields … everywhere.
An old man and I watched horses Tuesday evening, two roans, a mother chasing her foal back and forth in long sweeps. She ran upright, head aloft, a scamper becoming a prance, innocent as weather.
Early Wednesday morning the fog moved in liquid waves in front of me at the edge of another field near woods. Doves and red-winged blackbirds came out of those trees, and like spirits meant only to delight, materialized in the middle of long glides to the bird feeders in the low maple.
Come out! Come out and see.
