October 7th 2015

So many losses lately. Martha and I laughed a little in the church balcony today when we decided we have too many friends and that’s the reason.

The service of remembrance for Wendy Fruland Hopper was surreal. She was too young and this day was too beautiful. Sun poured through the lavender-tinted windows of Miller Chapel, reflecting the light Wendy always cast. Her family carried themselves almost as brightly as she. The congregation was a calm sad sea, spread out like time and wondering about the mysterious ways of their god.

Bud Lyle died today too. The wonderful guy who fixed my smile.
To cheer up I found one of my silly old poems:

Three-Sixty

Bugs and such take time to rub
and thus, I thought, will I

contemplate the sweeter things:
the spangled song a cricket sings;

conversant crows; a breeze on those
gauzy clouds; the flapping flag!

‘Though I have tried imagining,
I always feel relief

that incidental reality
returns the best belief.

A fly has landed on my hand–
the shock I feel is brief.

I sense the suction in his feet;
I find him utterly complete.