Chocolate Ice Cream

I believe in signs, not in alchemy, a
nonsense to be shooed away, but in
a way of seeing. When one quiets the

pounding beat of the daily tattoo, stills
limbs and breath, curbs babble riffling
through the mind, there space opens

for seeing. It is simple, more simple
than the simplest mind could ever
devise. The meaning behind your

smile, the direction of your toes, a
tiny hand sticky with chocolate ice
cream. These are the signs endowed
to those who want to see.

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

The end of summer. Simple joys. Quiet nights. Doggie mantram walks. Chocolate ice cream. Bliss.