A cat is attentive
the hidden birds
Sometime I am blinded of what I know
Prevents me from listening
At the end of the tunnel, I hope, is another way
And in the ocean, after I hoist a sail
The wind will pick up
And carry me to a wider reality.
I start putting words in my pocket
The birds start picking and scatter them
Some fall on front yards, others on the river
Fish snatch the floating words
The fishermen jump with surprise
People come out of their doors and greet me
I feel embarrassed, I answer with greetings
I’m thankful, their dogs like me
Tomorrow I will take a basketful of words to the Farmer’s Market
I will sit next to the mushroom grower
She tells stories about creatures in the forest
I will be a good listener.
I am walking to the river.
Sometimes I whistle when I walk Inviting the breeze to come.
The birds whistle to each other.
They hide within the branches of the trees when it rain.
Their wings become heavy when wet.
Some places flood when it rains.
Places next to a river.
Houses along a river.
Even after repeated floods people don’t want leave.
Some mountains have frequent fires.
People who live there also don’t want to move to another plane.
Some people have perseverance.
They have courage to resist.
The cool breeze comes.
I continue my walk.
Sometimes I think of you. I wonder of what you are doing.
I will see you on Thursday.
note:Color my heart with cookies.
Thud, thud, the thudding sound
of a luggage sliding Inside the car’s trunk,
a car driving fast the curves
that’s how my head spins
when I clean the sink of unfulfilled writing promises
I will try again
a new concept of a New Year
to tell a moment of each day
a gathered thought, an instant click of a camera
not a memorized notion of what a day should be,
maybe a spark of enchantment.
Will it make the day meaningful?
But questions do not meant to be answered
I will begin today.
Note: Like a mantra I walk to the river today. The day is spring-like low 60’s, blue sky, flowers and acacia trees are blooming.
The photos from my mobile phone capture the moment.
My day starts late with a walk to the river
Counting the black birds on the tree
They come down to feed on feeders
Thrown by a woman on the sidewalk.
Our activity continues to the downtown
Where children and adults parade their lanterns,
Light attires, jellyfish lighted parasols, costumes.
Their route passes along where lgihted arts
Are projected on buildings complete with music and narrations.
We end the evening under the huge moon
As if it falls down from the sky
Which is what one child asks her mother about.
The seeds get strayed from the garden
Travel in miles of air
The petals fall like kisses
Or is it kisses like petals falling
Landing on your hair, shoulders and dreams
And I waking remember the fragrance
Of the place where you once walk.
I remember you telling me
Not to get anchored in dreams
“Shape your future in reality,” you said.
The egret standing on the riverbank
Remains like a statue
When a boat passes by
The egret looks at me
as if asking a question
Will a rose remains a rose
If no one looking?
The friendly egret
The sidewalk where I walk
Today I went for my walk before I had my breakfast. It was 53F and the sun was trying to peek behind the clouds. A light brown, tall poodle lumbered out from a door and ran ahead of me. I heard a young woman called out, “Mozart, Mozart, come back.” The woman and I exchanged pleasantries. I remarked that she has a beautiful dog. I met a walker with his dog, a smaller one thanMozart. We greeted each other, Good morning. They were walking on opposite direction.
I continued my walk to the river. A few fishermen were socializing among themselves. Their lines resting on the riverbank.
Two towering palm trees across each other on the sidewalk greeted passerby’s. They remind me of a warmer place somewhere. The yucca plants did not give me a similar memory.
Perhaps because of a rain for the last 2 days the street was fairly clean. The birds sang joyfully.
By the time I turned around to walk back home the sun has burst out. The top of the hills has risen above the clouds. The breeze 55F grazed my face like a whisper.
My morning of holy moments.