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.
You come sweet little bird, greet
Us this morning, good tidings, a spirit
To light our souls, to see
The essence in every moment
Days when flowers bloom
Or nights when glasses are broken
When strength rises from suffering
When hope remains during uncertainties.
The clouds flee
the dew hides
the sun reigns
Not a scratch in the sky
Like a voiceless bird
Will you offer praise?
Wait, there is a haziness,
A thin false disguise
A fire burns in a forest somewhere
Walking to the river is my quotidian proclimation
A morning with flashes of sharp breeze and exaggerated cloud formations
A fugitive or a caged bird
Life, a quilt floating in time, fertile and vulnerable
Always lacking in certainty
Piecing parcels together fuels the effort
Ages I scale are experiences of different personalities
Each stage has its own expressions and demands:
Writing, cooking, doing laundry—little things, mundane and sacred
The progression, a knowing like I felt everything
Fishemen, artists, lactating mothers, even geniuses
Want to live a real life of home.
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.