Off I go! said Blurtso, streaking out the door. Places to go, things to do, I’d better pick up the pace, I’m late, late, late!
Hey, why are my hoofs so cold? Oh no, I forgot my mittens! I guess it’s back I go. Up the walk, through the door, grab my mittens, go, go, go. Ahhhh, that’s better, said Blurtso. That’s more like it. Snug and soft, happy on the hoof. Now, what was I doing? Where was I rushing to?
What are you doing? said Harlan. I’m looking at a piece of straw, said Blurtso. Oh, said Harlan. It’s a very nice piece, said Blurtso, with lovely color and shape. Yes it is, said Harlan. It’s been a while, said Blurtso, since I really looked at something—it’s quite refreshing. How long have you been looking? said Harlan. I’m not sure, said Blurtso. That long? said Harlan.
I like to spend time with quiet people…
My life is out of control. I’ve been running around like a human without its head cut off. My brain has been strafed with artificial sights and sounds. I’ve got to slow down. I’m just going to stand here until I manage to have at least one sane thought…
I suppose even the busiest people find themselves alone at times—walking to their car, opening a door, taking out the trash—and they glimpse an honest reflection of themselves—transitory, insignificant, unprotected—before rushing to hide beneath responsibilities, overcoats, and routines.
Bonny was talking a lot about mindfulness yesterday. I wonder what she meant? I wonder if it’s anything like stomachfulness? I’ll have to ask her the next time I see her, if I’m not too focused on the present to remember.
I wonder why it seems that everyone I meet is busier than me? I go to school, keep up with my classes, give my time to charitable causes, and help friends in need… but I still have time to sit and watch the snow. Maybe donkey years are longer than human years, and a donkey’s day is seven times longer than a human day.
“Too many words”
too many words and too much motion
to describe the branch’s sway
and the afternoon of your eyes!
Buzz, hum, and flutter are slower words.
City whisper heard from the hills,
and voices’ splash crossing the canyon.
Seep in, stillness,
settle the swell of the sea!
Too many words, too much motion
to feel the feel of the earth,
its grass beneath the hooves,
its spray upon the cheek.
With so little wisdom,
with circles and struggles and haste,
how can I hope to catch the ripple
of your breath on the glass of my soul?