I walk outside
somewhere mostly sky and living things,
if large water, cool.
Big and lumpy cool,
but trees alone
and some high, scuppled clouds
will do in a pinch. And I do
the opening-to-sensory overload
thing. I try
to pay attention
just to what's streaming in
through every sense.
A distant song,
a smattering of overlapping bird calls,
the water, the rustle, the wind,
the hot pine smell,
my skin
my airways and lungs,
my throat,
my lips
and the impact of earth
traveling up my legs. The sight
panoramic and minuscule, all at once
- expanding attention to all at once
but doting on each detail the point
of my mind will touch as I go, and let
go. If I see
something cool
I may stop and just look. All over
it at first, then settle on one point
and let persistence of vision build up
like melting periphery and lightning-flash
through cracks of surface texture, holding
my gaze on, and through one point
but geeking out on the intrusion of tiny shift
and shake that ripples all through. Especially
valid for use on the right kind of clouds
- the kind that look like breaking waves
with streaming spray of cirrus.
This is a proven technique
to drive words and connected series
from thought. Some people can do it
indoors! I tend
to wake up
at a road someplace
unfamiliar, remembering
every step of the way
but none of the time passing.
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