11 December 2006. Winter morning, gray chill. Woman in dark coat, slender cut,with one hand extended, holding translucent box with light blue lid--holiday cookies, one atop the other, their ends dipped in chocolate. A struggle to describe--the recalcitrant world. Sometimes it flows. Like Rumi's guests--they arrive in all forms, whether we think we want to see them or not, like family--right of access--but not always welcome. Like the dancer on the streets of New York. "Forty Sixth, between Seventh and Eighth." Known stretch of turf, ritual of knowing, redeemed through use. "Come visit. We'll have some brandy." All smiles.
Make it new.
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