Writings by Tim Girvin
47 Years Old

I arose this morning in the grey darkness. And to the East,
a low and muffled dusting on the Cascades,
the Sun still hidden, Skykomish rushing. Mount Rainier is quiet windless, gauzy.
Crow cracked a morning reminder.
Wake up! Pay attention-through the open window above me, driving in.
West, Mount Constance looked back to me, Olympics rangebound, across the steel water,
and called: "Are you coming to me?"
Just that moment, attuned. Listening.

I've been working, mostly silent, since shortly after 5 this morning. And,
I've been writing about the senses. All five, thinking of the seven:
of balance and thirst. These last two, should be added to the
experiential palette, standing upright, thirsting...
opening up to the mystery, to taste anew.
To see with the beginner's eyes, to touch gratefully,
to hear, thank fully, to scent: sent.

And, to quote Hammarskjold, "for all that has been: Thanks!
For all that shall be: Yes!"

thanks to all.

(Originally sent: Thursday, June 15, 2000 8:42:02 AM)

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