The question of, 'Now, what are you going to do?' comes up when I tell of having turned the corner on my quest. I tell of getting it as in, this is how I see it & this is how I figure it works. The * it, is the point of it all. The coming together of disparate parts, of selected universal human experiences & how one would arrange in an artistic way this truth in time so as to be able to successfully account for an ongoing check every thousand years to eternity. This is My.th & my say & I am poised to put it out to see what my peers will say in review.
Coincidence is the stuff of story, is the way I say, that synchronicity takes place but the form does not matter, the essence does. One has the experience. What one makes of this experience is subject to debate & we are all subject to editing. The wonder of it all can be daunting & one can lose their horseshoe. To know that others have found their shoe is both encouraging & disheartening. One searches in despair & in hope. The quest goes on despite diversity.
Having solved the question of finding it * out positions one at the threshold of eternity. The disparate straits face one again. Can I make it through, one more time?, comes to mind & the recognition of the experience of the previous successful completion of this eternal transaction gives one pause to consider this fact as being meaningful. It * can be vital to the outcome. One can experience this & articulate it & peers can review it & edit it to their satisfaction & make it useful. One's truth * matters.
Sunday night after supper the dog, Dolly, & I were going for a walk. My wife, Gloria, was on the phone with daughter, Gaelin, in California. It was dark & Dolly was out the door in a flash & onto the ground & after something growling & barking. I stepped down onto the porch with my flash light in the ready & when I got to the rail & shined the light down I saw them going around the big pine tree that had the grapevine wreath, bird seed feeder & had had my found horseshoe placed over a stub of a cut off limb. The horseshoe had disappeared some months ago & we could not find it. I speculated that someone may have taken it.
The growling & barking soon quieted as the raccoon with the dark right side made its climb up the shadblow tree where the suet basket was hung. Dolly & I made our walk. Gloria & Gaelin finished their talk & we all went to bed. In the morning when I went, with Dolly, for the morning paper there it was, my horseshoe. 'Mrs. Carr,' I hollered & she came to the door. 'What is it?', she said. 'My horseshoe', I said & pointed to the ground where they had gone around & around in the quarrel & chase of last night.
The winter solstice is at hand & things are looking up.