bound

I try not to question anything. That way if something goes wrong, I can’t be held responsible for knowing better. But electricity runs fastest the more miles it has to cross. You can follow the dip and glide of roadside power lines with your eyes as you drive east to Minneapolis and be certain, when night comes, that light will shout from poles into the shadowed yards of farm houses along Highway 13.

If the sky is there for us, why not look at it? Why not throw our heads back and laugh and suddenly notice that we are free?

I plan to discover God in the strangest places. My father’s heart, for example, is made of a million batteries powering an expanse of light over the Jim River valley, cutting the land into spindles that we gather into sheaves and scatter from planes. We are happy, we are busy making the world, you are never so beautiful as when you think no one is looking. Push me hard out of the cargo hold. I’m laughing, falling, and turning like a record on a spindle. I wake up before I hit the ground.