The trees that glisten with sunlite gleams seemed to wave to me as I drove by:
"Come sit under our warm cool branches when you have the time."
And I do whenever I can. Why just the other day a bench under a tree was better than a pavilion Parthenon.
The ceiling didn't have the inviting life like a green friend that a nearby tree had to offer.
I'm not Whitman and don't glorify trees. A tree isn't a poem. A tree stays tree.
A cat came out to play from the house next to me.
"Thank you for letting me outside the other day with a clear indifferent love, but I'd like to also sometimes be with other cats."
And I understood though I'm not a cat. A nearby watering hole with a few nice people does sound a bit better than the superficial devotional meditation that gurus like to prescribe like a monolithic cowboy pull string nothing. A metaphor is just a metaphor sometimes. Not an invitation. I don't want any pull string cowboys in my life at all. But the word itself does have a nice style ring to it so I wrote it.
People like to hang out. People like to laugh.
That's the only reason a good friend should be.
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