Posturing:

I had to get to the front gate this morning because the guy from Terminix was coming to check on the house: I had to make sure that the gate was open by 10 o'clock. Now, it is about 1/4 of a mile to the gate & another 3/4 of a mile to the bridge. It was here at the bridge that I notice how the sunflower settled into its own niche right along side of the mailboxes.At this point, I had the sense that this is a physical world; there fore, it is all about occupying space. The manner in which you personally displace space. Just like the sunflower. Now I will admit that it is a very pleasant walk to the mailboxes: walking down my drive to the road I pass the Mountain Laurel backed up by the Pine & Oak trees. this journey through the trees is very mellow; yet, so robust, filled with fresh oxygen through photosynthesis. I just love being around these many trees; because of them, it's just a gradual downward sally to the gate. Now from the gate to the bridge: it's half hard pack road & half black top road which is maintained by the town; I just follow the hard pack portion of the road. It is called North Fork Lane. The hill side is filled with trees that are large, small and many between. If you open up your mind's imagination, you could see the hill side cleared and a vineyard flourishing there in its place. The land's gently rolling slope is ideal for growing grapes; but instead, it's the water flowing under the surface of the land that is being capitalized upon. So, turning with the road, you come to the water's tap; this is where the bright, shiny steel truck hocks up to the hillside's water tap: fresh water to be bottled & sold, free market capitalism. Walking past the water's tap, the road opens up along the side of Christian Creek whose water flows under the bridge. Plus, this is where my neighbor has set up a place for his family to relax and enjoy one another's company. The rocks were moved out of the way so that there would be a wading pool of water several feet deep, continuously being turned over by the brook's descending flow, allowing the family to bath in the shade of the old tree's limbs. From this point,  you can see the mailboxes by the bridge; but yet, not the sunflower nestled within the mailboxes. Oh! yes, the creek is singing out; it's the sound of music. It's in this intersection of time & space that the sunflower & I found each other.