The practice of involved days, loose, disposable connections,

An old man’s practice.

Early August, depth of summer in the South, a clear sultry day.

Cool feet, in cool water.  Limitless are the open skies

Toward the setting sun.

                        unbounded, I heard, and a warm setting sun.

Outward.

                        daydreaming in the mountains, reveries and good wishes.

Crepe myrtle in purple, white bloom

The back woods washed in warmth

                        and all alone I gaze.

Unsettled I say to myself, bounded by burdens.

Quiet now, solitude and unanimity sought.

A top the red dirt of the Carolina Piedmont, the air still

                        constant,

I listened and read the coming rain clouds.

Only here, here and now, I saw, the sky uplifted

                        rising on the notes of Ravel

                        soaring in a Spanish Rhapsody.

Nothing is wasted, all is spent.

                        I rise with the music and

                        the clouds, into the fading blue sky,

My heart immersed in the sweeping grandeur

And everything calls.