High Mysterious Union

It's May, and the owls and whippoorwills call in the night. Soon the cicadas will begin their summer song.

Here on my rock, I watch and listen. I think about signals and transmission lines.The electrical hum along the wires. Waves bouncing off the blue sky.

Mathematical formulas become sigils if you think about them long enough. Arcane frequencies resonate in time.

Somewhere, beyond the range of ordinary perception, the invisible conversation goes on and on.