Evening

It was one evening, fighting the bugs with puffs of smoke from my pipe

And I looked on.

I looked on past the trees and the leavess,

Past the little dirt road that lies just to the left of those trees and leafs.

I saw past the place where time starts and moves

in all directions.

Another puff of smoke to scatter the swarming gnats.

But just what was it

What was it I saw as I looked past the trees and leaves

Since time was no real consideration, I saw those that had gone before me.

I could see situations where I laughed

And where I cried.

The insects where winning and I needed more tobacco in my pipe.

What I saw continued

I could not really see it all , mostly due to it’s complexity

Which seemed to blur the vision as my mind attempted to focus on one point,

And then shift to another point

I wanted everything.

The smoke from my pipe swirled and chased the buzzing creatures off

The shifting focus

Moved from the start past the trees and leaves

Since time was no real consideration, I could not see the line between now and then

And I saw the now with then together

I wanted more

The evening was coming and the second shift of flying insects fought my smoke

The focus continued to move

Past the dirt road that lies just left of those trees and leaves

I tried to make out each piece hoping to gain some sort of understanding

I saw myself and I saw you

And we were not alone

Tapping the coals of tobacco and ashes deeper in the pipe’s bowl

This next area was the least focused

But I could see the threads that wove between the points

I reached out past the dirt road that lead beyond today and touched the threads

I saw the threads were desire

Also called pain

The pipe was running low, and the pouch was empty

These thread that wove the whole

That moved from pool of experience to pool of experience

Each one a point, or mirror or screen showing me that moment, that experience,

That time of joy

Now gone

I puffed slower to streach the time left by the remaining tobacco out

The threads of pain joined the pools of joy

And weaved a tapestry of life, mine and yours

I tried to see the mirrors that lie past the trees and leaves and down the road

But it was hazy

And I could not see

By this time my pipe had ceased to smoke, but the small creatures had not yet noticed

I could see some things past the road

Things called potential, joys that lie ahead

But it was the threads I could not see, or perhaps did not want to see

Which weaved the fabric

Of the future

I lit the pipe, burning more the pipe than any thing else out of habit

I saw how my fabric was wove with your fabric

And there was no beginning, nor an end

And it brought to me a saddness and a hope all at the same time

Because I knew it was hard

To hold both

There was no use of even pretending the pipe was out, no smoke

I guess the word humility came to mind

But still feelings of awe also came

For to just be part of this cloth, whom ever the weaver be

Made the little dirt road

Where I wanted to be

THE END

(By Patrick Newberry)