there was a lightning bug on mister. sam said it might be good luck. this butterfly on the path to pebble beach, drinking nectar on its soul journey. sole journey, continuum. we have only this journey which is endless. i looked up viaticum, as it occurred in a story, and it means food for the journey. reminding me of my friend of the salish tribe who died and they came to my house in the hour of his leap, in the hour of the soul, and i hid, afraid. reminding me of the four meals prepared for his soul journey, given to the fire for the fire to lead the way and nourish the traveler. i think of gathering nectar for the soul in life, gleaning in the known, in the flower community, for the unknown. i think of breath. i think of smoke.