Sometimes at sunset on a cloudy day, the sun sinks below the level of the overcast in clear air to the west. For about fifteen minutes everything’s on fire and explodes. The afternoon that pulled the hammer back is gone.
The other day I thought I sensed them. They or it or what that wants to help. There was an image of me focusing energy with my hands. I knew that they’d be there if the result was meaningful, if I were giving back, acknowledging. The next morning I transferred money out of savings for an implant and a crown and didn’t even blink, much less blame shiny Volvos for a goddamn thing. Long white clouds ripped past Lobo Peak as I looked out the window from the dentist’s chair. I cried a quiet tear. Afterwards, the air outside was clean and chilly with the wind that shook the sagebrush by the parking lot. A raven squawked atop a lamppost. The Dakota started with a rumble and away we went.
My wife has taken lately to putting her hand on my upper back. This startles me because it feels so good.
The arc is so important.
Clear air to the west.
John Hamilton Farr lives in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” See .png)
Good for you, brave man!
Unwilled trust. A great surprise.