Walk the talk, I’ve been practicing in this office. Flap of footfall after footfall.
Prattfall of consonants and vowels, tripping over tongue and teeth. Parades
of words without accompaniment from the Yorba talking drum under the altar.
Two tones that stretch from B to F# on an electronic tuner. Five keyboard notes
apart. Miles for untrained fingers. Beats. The patter of consonants. The slide
of vowels make human weather under the crack of lightning, roll of thunder
and whistle of wind. Murmurs in search of meaning. Plucks on the harp of joy.

What a privilege
to wander and
wonder trapsing
through primeval
jungle called life,
where many
encounters turn
out to be
old friends.