I ask question after unanswerable question as I walk.
Old familiar patterns of dead end quests for meaning, patterns, answers, purpose.
The search for a singular purpose
… is it secular or sacred, is it written or is it read, is it big meaning small meaning, is it my work is it teaching, is it worthwhile is it worthless, is it images or words, is it poetry or prose, is it possible to get a sign just a hint of an answer.
Meanwhile the wood throws up image after image
of beauty, wonder, magic,
beyond the reduction of my questions,
a celebration of both,
beyond either and or,
a painting of darkness and light.