8 march

when i find i have been writing again and over about dark about night about sleep there is a thought of opening a window -- of walking for a time in a place with fresh buds on trees and the small of rain -- maybe stepping into a stream in bare feet or toes into muddy sand beside a canadian lake -- and these are all worth writing about more and there is plenty to say about other things but in the end it seems most direct to learn in underground and pull up that cool dirt to see what will grow next