ANGELS
You might see an angel anytime
and anywhere. Of course you have
to open your eyes to a kind of
second level, but it’s not really
hard. The whole business of
what’s reality and what isn’t has
never been solved and probably
never will be. So I don’t care to
be too definite about anything.
I have a lot of edges called Perhaps
and almost nothing you can call
Certainty. For myself, but not
for other people. That’s a place
you just can’t get into, not
entirely anyway, other people’s
heads.
I’ll just leave you with this.
I don’t care how many angels can
dance on the head of a pin. It’s
enough to know that for some people
they exist, and that they dance.
-Mary Oliver
Moth-
I've never really looked at a moth. I think they are odd furry things with beauituful swept wings and oversized eyes. Like goggles. As if they are World War One aviators needing eye protection (and leather hats). This moth rests on some sort of woven thing. Thready. A placemat or table protector. I dont know what its role is. It looks made by hand. An anonymous hand more than likely. A per hour hand. Or a per piece hand. A hand far away from where I am. In a different time. Or maybe not so long ago given the global economy.
It could be something made for a few cents an hour in a place I likely have never been, likely will not go, and likely may not of even heard of. Or it could have been made in Fort Worth. One just does not know.
The moth and the thready thing are small. Mostly things I would not normally notice. But today, and I don't know why, they appear big. Huge. Outlandish. Something from the small world made big.
All of a sudden. They appear. They manifest.
All of a sudden.
