Aristotle in the back yard instead of raking the leaves that crackle and rustle under foot
Supposing that knowledge is one of those things that is fine and valuable
Considering each thought as it comes to mind – wondering if, fleetingly or otherwise, each is an action unto itself
Of these some are held to be affections peculiar to the soul itself, others belong to the animals
Falling behind the effort to keep pace as the awareness of every moment’s passing stacks upon its predecessor
the inquiry, that is, about substance and what a thing is — perhaps someone might think
Thinking about thinking, thoughts about thoughts, daydreams dangle loosely and tangle into knotty heaps
For straightness is inseparable if indeed it is impossible without a body
A murder of crows acts as a distraction and an awareness of my re-action drives me inside to seek refuge from the endless possibilities
