Tomorrow

We are  sheltered in for more than 2 months now. There are changes that everyone has noticed before: air is cleaner, less cars driving in the neighborhood, in the highways, the hills and mountains can be seen clearly. The world is new again.

But uncertainties remain. Vulnerability exposed. Maybe the same “vulnerability that songbirds feel every single day of their lives” as noted by Robin Wall Kimmerer., author of Braiding Sweetgarss.

Time is time. Not timeless.The pandemic reminds us of our impermanence.

There are now easings of restrictions. Our yearning for open space is more urgent. Will human touch be a strange feeling?

Tomorrow we hope to be curious again. Or maybe for the first time.

Tomorrow when I go out of the door I will be seeing a new world. One says, “ every beginning is monumental.” I will try to believe it.

 

note: 2 weeks ago I was hospitalized for 4 days. I was very sick with an infection. Not cobid-19. I was negative.

 I am home now and recovering favorably. I hope to resume walking to the river again everyday.

The book currently I’m reading or should I say I am listening at is Brading Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Apology

It’s not shyness

The energy hides in the heaps

of shelters

You can look but the present is unique

in its solitary hours

voluntarily you read the shadows silently

capture them in words and instant moment photos

the yearning to hold your hands is overwhelming

I’m sorry.

When weather changes it’s mind

I’m sorry I have not written anything lately.

I’m in the hospital for another condition other than Cobid-19.

I think I’m getting better.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY

 

Flower Moon

I captured the flower moon last night with plain sky. I did not have any plant or tree or other backgrounds to align the moon. I’m sorry for the just the black sky and the moon.

The book I’m re-reading: The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus.

Blindness Not Just The Eyes

 

Blindness Not Just The Eyes

I stand laughing and looking

You at the buoyant side of being funny

Your words trickle on the safe distance between us

The trick is to make it lasts longer

Longer than the recitation of arithmetic of pandemic

When to open doors, breath the fresh air

Without widening the hospital doors

More cases will enter, more deaths

We cry, pray without even hope of holding hands

There is already so much written about haste and finance

Lacking tests and more tests

They have deaf ears

Counting other types of numbers

Want the numbers bold and arrogant

Going deeper, poorer, much poorer in spirit.

Meaning of life

A tiny sun drenched backyard

bougainvillea luxuriantly blooms

unbounded, like eternity

Books I finished reading during the pandemic:

The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton

Victory by Joseph Conrad

Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah

 

Little Things

On most days I walked to the river. I took some photos and posted them in the Facebook.