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How do you usually go around being in several instances? Do I just have to keep a separate account for each one I join?

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We're approaching the escalator that leads down into the subway. My ears pick up what seems to be a horn playing. A busker, perhaps? A young busker, I think, because the notes are full of off-rhythms and periodic squeaks. A young saxophonist, playing for change? I can't discern a song. As we get closer, I realize my ears have deceived me. Not a musician, but the escalator itself, the belts of the tracks singing the blues to those whose weight it carries. It's a mournful song.

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"Listen to your sister."
"She's not my sister."
The older girl looks closely at the two little girls. One is spinning a hula hoop. The other is trying to grab it.
"Then listen to your friend. If she is your friend ..."
The older girl can't figure out if the two little girls like each other.
"Our teacher," says the little girl, "gets us confused all the time. It's annoying."
I'm walking by, seeing this exchange. They do look like sisters. The older girl and I smile, understanding.

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I just want to build awesome shit and hang-out with cool people.

Is that really too much to ask for out of a civilization?

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Making small talk w my mom yesterday, I mentioned there's a beekeeping class at the library this weekend and she heaved a sigh so heavy it nearly blew me out of the car

March--the month of ephemera.It rained most of the day yesterday. Later that night we had temps exactly at freezing for about 8 hours.Then we got just a couple of inches of snow. It coated everything.With the rising sun and rising temps we began to melt. Impossibly, the snow completely insulated the phone and electric lines.As it melts I am drawn by the idea that no computer on Earth can predict when it will melt off the wires. None.Nature is neither a computer nor an algorithm!

Consider: how much in your life that cannot be selfied. Consider: the fleeting joy of a single plum blossom after a hard frost. Consider: you cannot own ephemera.

The whole fleeting joy
of a single plum blossom
after a hard frost.


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I don't know why this memory just came to me:

In elementary school (I think I was in 1st or 2nd grade) I decided that I was going to write the longest number ever and have get an award in the Guinness Book of World Records.

So I started writing. I had a page that began with 1,000,000,000....
I enlisted my friends and collected pages and pages of 000,000,000...

After a day or so of this, I thought "Oh no! We should be writing nines!"

And I don't remember what happened next.


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@dogtrax It is the same, in the desert, when it rains. Second day in a row, it’s been at least 3 months since we saw rain. I walk slowly to the cafe, noticing every drop of moisture clinging to the leaves. The smell, the smell of the earth soaking up the rain. It’s supreme perfume. My colleagues express this and I text my friends, eagerly, to share this short lived experience. it will soon be baked dry, red dust again. Only under the leaves, in the shade, there will be some damp.

I have a flock of twenty ewes. My wife and I are co-equal shepherds. We have long known that our sheep can recognize us. Crazy, right? Not really. One example: our previous ram hated my wife and liked me. When we were in the field together he would try to single her out and ram her. Even when I used a shepherd's crook to mozy him along he didn't mind, but if she did it he became downright murderous. Hence...previous ram. Follow up with some fun here

One beautiful thing:
the fine snow
straight down on our farm.
Snowbacked sheep.
Iced over water buckets
with an inch of white atop them. Daffodils laughing at it.
One beautiful thing
to rule them all.

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Look around. What's something beautiful near you right now?

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"Lunch. I'm sooo hungry right now."
"Sleep. My dad got me up way too early. I'm tired."
"I think I'm going to read. Maybe nap. probably nap."
"I'm going to run outside and play!"
"My mom is gonna take me shopping. Bleh."
"I literally have no idea."

This is the conversation captured in a line of students at the end of a early dismissal day, as a storm approached.

I found:
A rind.
A spent zero.
A whisp.
A scent of nothing skunk.
A whorl of dead chestnut
and desuetude--
our lambing barn.

Cock your ear, shepherd,
cock your ear.
All of you.
Listen with all of you.


The almost crinkle of ice
forming along the fractal edges
of creek bank?
The imagined shift
of heron feathers on eggs
in the nest?
A paperish rustle of river cane
struggling to hold the line
on eroding silty banks?
Baby barred owls whispering,
in nearby cedar?

What did you find, shepherd,
what did you find?


Cock Your Ear. Check Your Barn. It's March.

Outside ephemera.
Snowflakes on black cat fur,
A faint chuckle from a ewe
carried on the barest whistle
of a March wind.
Did you hear it?

Check the barn, shepherd,
check the barn.


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@tellio @dogtrax I've shared this before, but still so relevant - I love it. Makes my intellectual cogs turn and gives new perspectives on the 4'33" piece. out of the mouth of the composer himself.

Dawn's piper at the Gate.
Lagging owl hoots,
a rough-shouldered hawk's first screes.
Bleating lambs,
the distant throat of trucks on the interstate.
One earbud in,
one earbud out:
Nature and humankind,
in stereo.
I am drummed into
an uneasy trance.