From here you can see the snowy mountains,
Like words written on the blue walls of the sky.
That's your east,
And your west?
The blue fades to a vague gray in the direction
Of the dark wilds of the Pacific.
This is California's vegetable garden,
The Central Valley, long and wide.
I inhabit this place. Like a bat in a cave.
Like an owl in an elm. This place is my own.
I fill this land like a ghost fills a haunted house,
Like coffee fills a cup.
Starting out from here
Any direction is the right direction,
And turning about from any direction
Takes me back home.
The bell sounds, and then sounds again. And through the tolling I hear a call for life, the call of the sacred. Then silence. I choose to...
Dreams and trees, dreams with milk and honey. The scythe slicing through silk, through wheat, and through all unreasonable expectations. S...
Blood spilled on virgin snow. Sorrow under a perfect sky, sorrow under a blue heaven. The moment when tomorrow becomes today, becomes now. ...