How Many Times, by August Kleinzoller
Master claps of thunder. Wrath-of-God thunder. Sitting on the porch at night and waiting for the rain to fall on Texas, or at the Cantina Grill Express in the Denver airport between flights Watching as you dab at some hot sauce on your chin. How many times? How many places have I said "I love you"? How many, fill in the blank, does it take to change a light bulb?
Watching smoke from the sugar beet plant drift East to Minnesota from the hotel window in Fargo. How many times you were beautiful?
The swami, after an extended meditation in his hut, in the pine forest, many kilometers distant from the nearest village and at an altitude from which one can see not only that village but the next, and the next. Takes out a cigarette, lights it, and inhales deeply.