My own superficiality

It's not so hard to imagine all of this not being here. I had lunch today next to two ladies with very obvious facelifts, whose phones rang incessantly through lunch, whose bottoms hung out of their sweats and who had absolutely nothing to say to each other. Isn't that terribly sad? If we live, as we do, in such a superficial way, then what hope is there for an inner life, or for the travel of the soul?

My lunch companion has a 17th century Buddha found and sent over from Thailand. It's wooden and its hands are lifted as if to stop the ocean a la King Knut. It will have its own shrine in his house.

The leaves glimmer and beckon me, sparkling quietly in the sunlight and I know that soon I must go back to the fields and the trees. The asphalt won't hold me much longer. But, and this has to be said, I do so adore wearing high heels.