When I Was One
When I was One, life was just as complex and full of bumps as it is now. I just hadn't learned to label the differences between things yet, so it was all a continuum of lumpy wonder and grace, Om-made bread pudding, with honey. One bite, and the golden rose of September would whisper to the February plum bud, "We are so lucky to be confused! Let's feel each other's toes down where the mushrooms grow!" Every moment was a blessed Fall into some delectable imperfection that allowed me to smelltastetouch the single viridescent stem whose tiny flowers are the stars.