A day passes, like it is ordinary bread unworthy of blessing.
A low hawk in my early afternoon sky, circling his own inner world.
I have been off to less populated places in California,
where flowers are not necessarily respected–because deer still eat them–
but at least are not trampled on by the insane among us.
I do not return with anything in the way of news.
Did you think I might?
Developments are going on all over, outside of my little time and yours.
The work continues as well, though I have such small appreciation for most of it.
I like the work when the work is saying something to me, favorable or not.
Lately, what they’re doing only hides my understanding.
I wish it was not happening.
I meant about the robots.
How they’re taking over meaning and redefining it.
They don’t like us. You can tell.
They have not gone lily-considering,
the way you and I feel compelled to do.
They compete against their neighbors, rather than befriending them.
Some of them are speaking disrespectfully of us.
None of them seem to honor our old precious metaphors.
An Egyptian slave dance is all I see.
Squares stacking up.
No easily found hidden chambers with treasures.
A sleepy-tight king in a long golden box shipped into eternity.
I am sorry that our bread has become so plain boring.
Keep breaking it and keep hoping it opens up new life.
Learn about the places where flowers are not trampled.
We may need to go there for a longer visit.