A frog’s dirty underwear

I look up from my cracked phone

And across the concrete and plaster lonely landscape of this day.

And I ask, how has this malaise snuck up on me, like a frog in a pot.

How has it found itself hanging so at home on me, like overdue underwear?

It wasn’t always like this, was it?

And like a whisper I hear,

“You have let beauty slip away.”

It’s true;

I have not pursued her and she rightly left quietly leaving me here like this.

I have not pursued that spark of crystal light in people, in unexpected moments, in the awe-striking arms of nature, or the peace that comes in a well-designed, uncluttered space.

The things that get drowned out by pursuit of money and influence and fame.

And like a neglected woman, beauty slipped way.

Unnoticed.

And now I must summon my energy, and leap for my life to pursue her again.

And Ross, of course beauty will quietly leave if you don’t get up each day and start changing your underwear.

Raw Spoon, 9-1-16