I like to walk backwards
like dancing tango without a partner
my toes on the threshold of the past
my heel on the door of the present
the imbalance feels auckward and untidy
makes me falls backward into the future
my thoughts entangled, confused.
The teacher looks at my notebook full of doodles
she smiles and shakes her head
I always forget to bring an eraser
A girl points to me my mistakes
We become friends and adventurers,
thinking we can fix broken things ourselves
We laugh at our perils
Like you and me, now, at forty five.
note: Yesterday Mrs. Abstract and I took one of our grandchildren to California Academy of Sciences in San Francisco.
note: Returning from Oregon in September, 2017 Mrs. Abstract and I stopped by a state park. I saw a man sitting, resting, under a big rock. I thought of Rodin. This is my modern version.
“Free! The word and the thought alone were worth fifty blankets.” -Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
Mine is books.
note: I just finished The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
Books I’m reading:
The Japanese Way of the Artist by H.E. Davey
and How We Work by Leah Weiss
Hearing knocking on the door is different from knocking on the window
Knocking on the mind is different from knocking on the heart
Woodpecker pecks trees, finch cracks nuts
Stones shine differently in the river, birds sing different songs
Daffodils from the countryside adorned tables
Spring equinox arrived yesterday.
I get lost while looking for your house
I did not see the sign until I turned around
You opened the door and came out smiling.
Foray in the forest to forage
for mushrooms after the rain
I may pass the hermit’s shelter
partially hidden in the circle of trees
Nobody has seen him
he seems to be invisible
The birds know where he lives
in his imperceptible presence.
If I see him I want to ask him
how he listens to silence,
to voice of solitude
Are they silent thoughts?
The hermit laughs
like a mountain brook
lively and clear.
He is bald and has a white beard.
He smiles like your best friend.