choral

I was listening to Thich Nhat Hahn on the way to the store, with his voice like a stone rimmed forest pool saying 'no one is ever born, no one ever dies' and talking about burning paper, smoke and heat.

Now I'm listening to the girls downstairs singing along to Joni Mitchell. Mom's record, the one I memorized when I was five and turned over and over on the record player like flipping a big black coin. A Case of You and All I Want piercing the floor and rising to the sky through the roof, mingling with the smoke in the clouds and finally coming back down as rain.

I suspect mom likes it.