Time in the woods

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A time of windy days, of falling leaves

Trees of fertile, intricate roots, anchored

Rarely do we enter the woods

As if we are afraid bears or snakes may cross our path

Thursday afternoon or any day,

Any ordinary day, is a day of sauntering,

Luminous time of spending an afternoon

Without concern of looking backwards

Not to imagine but to experience kindness of time passing,

To experience ourselves vulnerable and alone sheltered in the woods,

I like to think distant birds return because of me, a selfish notion of enticement,

Dreams die not because of unimportance

Though lustrous, their solace is celebrated no more

If you are struggling just to survive, are you missing much of life?

I encounter the homeless and heard of refugees

They crowd the margins, tiptoeing the edge of the cliffs,

The deep sea below and jagged rocks.

Each morning they look for a clean place

to be alone.

Life of abundance, life of scarcity, life of loss

And the liminal spaces between

What are the life’s possibilities and questions?

Intense experiences challenge the boundaries.

Solirude. Tumult. Arrested time.

The book I’m reading, page 37, asks,

“What’s the measure of your worth?”

Priceless, I shouted.

Speak

Drink your poetry

spread your voice like a sunrise

a siren to wake slumbering streets and balconies

bringing new pitch, efforts, and emotions

getting lost in crowds, fiestas, and promenades

Speak. Be a poet

Be vibrant like bougainvillea in the backyards

flowers overflowiing over a concrete fence.

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Kindness

Sometimes we walk in a painted drama

Or a recited poetry

Not hurried or loud

Like a leaf falling on a stream

There are things we don’t understand like shuffling papers

Or how we fold an umbrella after the rain

And we smile

We continue our walk doing crossword puzzles inside our heads

That’s how we miss dogs sleeping under the tree

One of us steps on his tail.

Where can light hide if it wants to hide?

Changing our names is like moving away, hiding or flirting.

Our eyes catch the light

Showering over a leaf

Like a prayer

Light has no tail or face

But a field, of attractions

A woman rises at dawn

An undulating line with three points

above and before the line’s endpoint.

Abstract inside reality

Reality arising from the abstract

Crisscrossing lines and several daubs of blue and red

Circles ascending and descending.

She rises at dawn

Pick some apples from under the tree

Art is simplicity, simplicity is art

Like kindness.C2218A67-1C3E-43EB-ADA8-3F33436A0BDA.jpeg

Walking

I have been walking for one hour everyday for two and a half weeks now.  Napa River is near our neighborhood. I follow a loop that takes  me about one hour. I stop a lot to observe, take photos and talk to people I meet. Many of them are other walkers and most are walking their dogs.

The photos I posted are some of those phots taken during my walk.

Walking can be a form of calming hour. A new article sings praises for walking:walking

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A Wish

 

Be a guardian angel

A caravan may need you

Walking for days looking for answers

For a practical place for winter living.

Would you rather study

different calamities in the world?

 

To memorize details may not be necessary or a time lost.

If you walk a lot

You may arrive at odd places

Kindness is rare, start the day with gratitude.

The simplest way to change the world,

Restore glaciers and abundant forest

And slows down the wind.

 

The caravan will find the oasis

The nomads can walk forever.