Its Turtles All the Way Down
by Amber Halo
Tuesday, October 22, 2002
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I grated the chocolate and scattered the shards into the beans.
I soaked the turnip greens in juice and rinds.
I shaved the carrots, and slivered the peas.
I sweated the cheese and garnished them with lavender.
I speak with the stones, and the stones speak with me. We talk for hours, and then we both have a good cry. I used to believe that the world was round, but now I just believe in the surfaces I see. The stone enjoys being thrown. Exhilarating, he says, screaming joyously through the air and crashing into the earth -- or with an almost sensual pleasure, into the stream. I used to believe in electricity, but now all I hear are the deities speaking to me, roaring amongst the clouds.
I pinned the clothes to the line.
I flaked the soap into the bath and dipped one toe in ever so slowly.
I dug up the leaks and placed them side by side in the light of the sun.
I used to believe in time, but now all I believe in is the leaves' change in hue, the loft of the wind, and the cessation of shapes in the ever shifting sands.
I used to believe in me, but now all I believe in is everything.