Thought Bubbles
Cleaning the fridge, I’m reminded of King Creon’s stables. But then I remember Hercules was set free at the end of his labors, so maybe that’s the wrong analogy. Which brings to mind the trials of Sisyphus—the endless, thankless monotony of his toil—admittedly on a more cosmic scale than mine, but still the same relentless cycle of joy and suffering inherent to the known universe, down to the Planck scale.
As I lean my shoulder into a mustard stain on the second glass shelf, I mull over the Laws of Thermodynamics, Chaos Theory, how the Tao Te Ching anticipated most of this stuff centuries ago. Yeah, it’s that kind of afternoon.
on my windowsill—
this little pile of bird shit
washed away by rain
Drifting Sands Haibun #24, 2024
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