Cork board

The ting of water drops splattering at the bottom of a downspout.

The faint glow of a firefly gliding under a forest canopy.

The chirp of a bird at night.

A bat?

No more firefly?

The points of light on distant peaks — mobile phone towers, street lamps, headlights pointing this way and that.

Standing in the doorway of a mountain cabin, a screen door barring mosquitoes and moths, stretching sore muscles tightened by hours of holding and turning a steering wheel, by moments in public view of others, anticipating their reluctant smiles, looking for laughter to ease the tension of one’s daily high-wire act…

At 3:35 in the morning, alone in one’s thoughts, is this happiness, time spent rewriting personal history, rewiring social connections at the neuronal level on an electronic slate?

How often does autocorrect redirect one’s thoughts?

If I’m willing to feel the pain of others in my easy life, so can you, when the time is right, when we get too comfortable to see that short-sighted happiness creates historical misery.

I am a caged animal at times, enraged, barred by artifices like social/moral boundaries that make no sense to me yet I, in my inadequacy, maintain for the sake of appearances.

Walking on hot coals for no reason, tiptoeing on eggshells spread across thin ice, wearing a life preserver shaped like a large yellow rubber duck.

This is my universe and I am learning to deal with it, a bull in a china shop one moment, a whisper of wind passing through seven billion social/moral/ethical animals the next.

We truly do not see our fragile place in the universe, trapped as we are by our hypnotic illusions, comfortably deluded.

Will we, as a small percentage of the mass of one planet, wake up in our sleep before we die?

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