Keep i On.

Most of the overtly happy moments of these weeks have taken place in that very same driveway, the concrete pad adjacent to the next-best house and home, but all the way in the back this time.

Out there at the patio table, I feel in odd moments that I’m living a life of luxury.

There is no pool; there isn’t even a hot tub though there should be.

But I have a chair, and I have fence enough that it doesn’t matter much whether I have clothes on or not.

I have an oversized insulated light metal mug called a Yeti–world class, found on the trip I resisted making.

Inside the mug I have the very best coffee in the world; single-origin organic from a worker-owned co-op.

In the very middle of being tangled up in blue there are these moments of feeling successful on some weird scale that has nothing to do with anyone’s definitions of success, not even my own.

During the last such moment I lounged there in my manly yet satin robe and it enhanced the feeling sweetly.

Feeling like the shaman chief of the birds that flew.

Then back inside to the bills to pay, the stupidities to sort out, the addictions, the scheming dreams-of-better that tangle.

If I could only stay in the present …

The now with no fear of past or future …

There is no better. There is no Rich, no triumph over death in the end.

But I want this other trailer … Most of all I want this tiny house on the land that is already mine, mine, mine.

I want that nest that is just enough and I want to migrate to and from it.

I want to put one word after another because that is the purposeful meaning mythos of a keepin-on bird.