With Aristotle

Aristotle in the back yard instead of raking the leaves that crackle and rustle under foot

Supposing that knowledge is one of those things that is fine and valuable

Considering each thought as it comes to mind – wondering if, fleetingly or otherwise, each is an action unto itself

Of these some are held to be affections peculiar to the soul itself, others belong to the animals

Falling behind the effort to keep pace as the awareness of every moment’s passing stacks upon its predecessor

the inquiry, that is, about substance and what a thing is — perhaps someone might think

Thinking about thinking, thoughts about thoughts, daydreams dangle loosely and tangle into knotty heaps

For straightness is inseparable if indeed it is impossible without a body

A murder of crows acts as a distraction and an awareness of my re-action drives me inside to seek refuge from the endless possibilities

In Between

driving
but dilly-dallying
really
daydreaming
over the hills
the miles of vines
the corners of which I’m cognizant
but just barely
the dead barn owl with one wing flapping in the breeze of a car just gone by
the cows
cute but stinky
and thankfully organic
the jibber-jabber on the radio
the cool rush of air from the window on the far side of the truck
the miles
really
the miles
they rush at me and under me and into infinity beyond the back bumper
and then the sun pushing up and into
pushing
the sky in the mirrors brightens and lightens and makes itself known
and when I look up at the mountain range that stands between me and the massive expanse of Pacific
the fog just barely spilling over
pink