succumbing

 find self in the studio, the Birdhut, such a special place, it's hard to describe what it means to me, in my search for words I open Norman MacCaig's  The Many Days, the first part of the first poem in the book rings true:

Ineducable me
I don't learn much, I'm a man
of no improvements. My nose still snuffs the air
in an amateurish way. My profoundest ideas
were once the toys on the floor, I love them, I've licked
most of the paint off. A whisky glass
is a rattle I don't shake. When I love
a person, a place, an object, I don't see
what there is to argue about.*

* my italics

...and so I don't, argue that is...I just Fall into it All

 and all the while listening to Joni