Dear Beloved,
I write you today from the garden, where insects are moving, leaves gently waving, Scrub Jays chattering. And more! This last few weeks the yard has been crawling with Monarch caterpillars.
Big doings in the yard!
The old ones are going.
The old ones are leaving.
She is coming. It is here. It is him.
Big doings in the yard these days.
The garden is unkempt- unkept, unfettered, un-managed, un-instructed, un-pruned; wild. sexy, fertile, fecund So it grows milkweed wherever it will.
Hence the butterflies, caterpillars, and chrysalids. In pale glowing celadon and quivering singing aliveness- this cycle, this growing and changing is religious, spiritual. Here is your temple, your cathedral, your superhuman beings. Watching these little cases of changing form, my mind is helpless but to expand- these little green pods pop all the Tupperware lids off of the contained contents of my mind and all the ideas burst out of their compartments and over flow all together in a primordial soup out of which ideas grow and blossom. What change can emerge by metamorphosis in even bystanders & passersby!
A short time lapse film from Microdique.
Just one more thing.
Oh, well, there is this, too:
