Intriguing, Sheila. Plenty of moody weeds around here this Spring. Mostly I
find them smug. Especially when they hve established themselves and the
rain stops and they know they have a good grip in the soil.
Fascinating series of questions about the quality of listening and unmoored
truths. With the sadness one, not that you seek direct responses no doubt,
I do feel that you can sound or rather take soundings for sadness which has
plungeable depths to which elation can never jump. Or that leaps into
happiness tend to be easy one-way thrusts as opposed to encumbered ways
down. Your title eludes me however.
Bill
On Thu, 6 Sep 2018 at 6:38 am, Sheila Murphy <[log in to unmask]>
wrote:
> Of what use is *who-I-am*? Not much else
> is known. The mood of weeds comes true, *n'est-ce pas?*
> Syllables when unconnected endanger us.
> If you are listening, when do you intend to stop?
>
> The lighthouse posted in the lower peninsula is on retainer in my heart.
> I hear you sprinkle truth in granules I cannot connect.
> Is there a correlation between sadness and depth?
> Infinity as I have understood it has not. been invented.
>
> The fresco you predicted has come true.
> I touch each moisture-free impression.
> Can habit be like fact?
> The mood of the people may remove me.
>
> If an angel is delinquent, who will punish?
> Thatched roofs distinguish sky from inner peace.
> The litmus test of washing day is whether we have standing.
> Are you who you say you were?
>
> Sheila Murphy
>
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