I’ll step into your garden
While following my bliss.
Bliss, while misunderstood, is just a property of your path.
It’s a compensation of thinking. That is: feeling.
Back to your garden:
There is a circle.
There are two trees. Twins, I’d say.
And then there’s this creepy shed.
The leaves paint a path outside of the circle.
All the while, I keep my eye steady for the people that might approach.
Twice now, that hasn’t happened.
So I scan the rocks on the ground.
Some are colored. Some are plain.
I backstep, making sure I see my entrance.
I wonder why I didn’t see this before.
Or sense it.
But if it’s real, you should test it.
Like metal.
Bite your teeth, like it’s sleep. Then rest.
But if you hold your tree,
Doesn’t it bring you peace?
I sort of visualizing holding the root of it.
Like a big-ass hooker of a pillow.
This is a medicine wheel, is it?
The center appears a place for discourse.