Sometimes I flow gracefully into change, like fall slips into winter, and sometimes I crash onto the ground and lie there for awhile looking at the dirt right there up close.

Good thoughts come in that quiet study of rock.  Thoughts that have no verbal form, too ethereal and filled with dust to grasp.

Things are changing.  My world is evolving.  This rope ladder is swaying hard in these eastern winds but I’m holding on tight, steady and strong.  Filled with too many metaphors and a whirlwind of hope and promise.

I can’t say what it is yet because I don’t quite know yet myself.  The shapes won’t form on my tongue, won’t translate from their current state.  It is bright and beautiful and I know it belongs right here in my heart, the place where  the wisps of a seed have been planted.

It starts, humbly as these things do, with a tiny empire of tea.  Some will see giants through the clouds here on the ground, some will see the terra firma that’s best for jumping.  I see the future.  It is good.

My life’s work has called.

I have answered.

Sokape.

I have an idea.  And it involves a little good natured mischief:

and an old tradition:

The only time I ever heard Ernie lament about being paralyzed was when we would pass by the statue of John Bozeman, founding father of our fair city.  He would say, “You know, if I could walk for a day the first thing I would do is dance on his grave.”

Cheers, Ernie.  I’ve got a good one for you.