On Sunday morning Henry went outside to walk his dog, Blue, walking past the garbage bins on the driveway Blue began to sniff like a police dog.
Henry, curious to see what was inside the cans took off the lids, the cans were full of lotus pedals and the garbage had evaporated. The aroma was saccharine, Henry watched as the flowers turned into doves and flew into the air … It was a miracle he thought.
And the moon filled the sky…
It was the beginning of the days of milk and honey Henry thought, he was feeling like Mose or Bob Dylan, prophetic, then wishing for something sweet down the road.
Something exquisitely beautiful like being in the literary vanguard, (A movement of contemporary artists on the cutting edge of a new literary style.)
Henry beyond trying to write like heroes write, adrift somewhere and on his own.
Enjoying what writers enjoy, being able to go anywhere in the universe without leaving their study.
Henry flying with angels playing conga drums on his computer keyboard as…
The moon filled the sky.