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Peeling Paint

Sometimes, when the mind is quiet, a sense of utter perfection arises...

the way the cat's fur curves with its body,
the empty breakfast bowl laced with crumbs,
peeling paint on the porch's outer floorboards,
diving swallows,
young golfers chopping their way down the fairway -
hitting their balls into a fierce breeze
that seems a bit too cool for the eve of June...

It's as if the underlying geometry of the universe always maintains its integrity even as the porch paint peels, and in stillness we are privy to that enduring geometry, even the intelligence behind it.

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