The tree limbs are scrawling help against the January sky. Some of them so scrawny as to look like still-born kittens.
I drove to the bookstore in order to stave off the insanity of this gray-filled day. Cars were jumbling up at stop lights as if their drivers had not been behind the wheel in years. I crept into the parking lot. Turned off my lights and took my umbrella into the store.
Once inside a group of ghosts were huddled in the Starbucks part of the store. I am quite sure no one knew what was going on. They had been summoned together by a higher plan than their own.
I looked at books in a desultory fashion, selecting 3 and a crossword puzzle book. Found some cookies half-price and left.
It doesn’t seem to matter what happens on January 2 if you have been housebound for the last few weeks as I have been.
God went on vacation or hiatus and left me to my own devices.
I pulled into the credit union and went in to get a 2015 date book. Drove home in a downpour consisting of stale karma and cookie-crumbled clouds.
There is no such thing as the spiritual path or chance or destiny or bookmarks or crowbars. There is just what unfolds like a ribbon of bad road when you survive with your life.
I love writing like this. God is snickering; I am sure He knows more about this than He is letting on.
I love you all but some of you need to sweep the cobwebs, sell the house and go on a long magical mystery tour. Maybe I talk about myself.