I’m sorry I have not posted for the last 5 days.
I spent my time on chess
Playing by email against 4 opponents
of two games each
I lost track of time
hours of concentration
It’s not surprising I forget
parts of the day or meals
What should a bird do
when flying over colorful meadows?
The birds flew south
Walking in the forest
I heard silence
With echoes of sadness
After you left
The books remained unread
Arranged on top of each other
In alphabets of absence
Some words are missing
In discordant conversations
The strings were adjusted
I was able to sleep
After a very long wait.
A month ago.
If birds can talk
Like on my other days
I perched that morning
On a flowering fennel along the river.
I saw you coming towards me, holding
In your left hand a walking stick,
A camera in your right hand
I waited for you to get close
Close enough to take my picture
Before I flew away.
Like on your many other days
You might not notice or remember
The little things, good things
You could do
For others.
Book notes: I’m currently reading, Underland by Robert Macfarlane.
I finished reading a long poem, A Part Song, by Denise Riley, about a grieving mother after losing her son. Also just finished a book, Time Lived, Without Its Flow, an essay on grief, also by Denise Riley.
I walk to the river this morning
listen to the songs the birds are singing
and the sounds of my feet touching the earth.
Have you heard recently
the sound of your feet
walking over autumn leaves?
Last week Mrs. Abstract and I visited Gearhart, a small village next to Seaside, Oregon with some friends one of which was celebrating her 80th birthday. We occupied a house situated on the bank of an estuary. Every morning I woke up early to glimpse the sunrise, stayed all day watching the high tide comes to the estuary. In the afternoon we watched the sunset.
There were many birds that came ove to the shallow pond left by the tide. It was a relaxed five days with clear and temperate weather. We told stories while sipping wines and eating home cooked meals.
I tried to walk to the river everyday.I stpo a lot to write phrases that come in my head, take photos, or talk to people I meet.
Three walkers are ahead of me: One going towards the river and 2 are returning from the river.
A reflection from a tree catches my attention. A spider web.
Afterwards I start looking for the birds. I hear their calls and songs during my walk.
I pass by clusters of flowers.
A fisherman in a boat comes around.
I walk the same path home
and find early arrival of ghosts.
The day is cool but sunny. The colors are starting to change.
Sometimes you try to retrieve
from the rooms waning summer holidays of memory
harvest, dancing, night serenades
love grows with each song.
Today, autumn starts
crisp air, sun drenched multiple colored leaves
She has to remember again
the many ways to wear her pashmina.
edgarone2