In the aftermath of Saturday morning’s bedroom ceiling collapse, there was a lot of clean-up.  Bits of plaster had invaded the cracks of my old wooden floor.  I scraped and vacuumed and mopped.

My bed was piled high with objects of my affection.  And there was only so much room.  So my lovely green fabric chair ended up in the living room.  I placed it haphazardly near a white chair.  I’d return it to its rightful spot in a day or two.

In one of my pauses, I looked at the two chairs.  And strange words formed in my brain:

They can’t talk to each other this way

So I arranged the environment to allow for connection …

You may doubt that chairs talk to each other, but I don’t.  There are mysteries in this life beyond my puny mind.

“Face-to-face” seems like a fine life principle.  Not at a slight angle.  Direct.

***

I’m a strange duck