Mother’s attentive presence
he, like a flower,
blooms

Mother’s attentive presence
he, like a flower,
blooms
Opening your school yearbook after so many years
memory are like high places we cling to
revelations can pain your heart
you want to resist but rawness is hard to hide
like a cry of a sparrow
eyes and face can reveal so easily
what is to inhabit bleakness of a future
or emotional existence when tethering from ordinary
but youthful exploits can ripen into awareness
mistakes can be forgiven
contradictions can come to resolutions
you can rise again after a wicked plunge
new leaf, new lines of relationships
can bloom in extraordinary clarity
you are a survivor.
Should I haiku
my way to you
light bends
The apple falls
flowers attract butterflies
bees circle around
Mothers wonder
children run to sounds of a waterfall
does enthusiasm measure distances
The kite laughs with the wind
free and unafraid
a boy watches
Inquisitive, often in motion
a bird moves from from to branch
to opening spaces
I decide to be better
procrastination flirts
catches my curiosity
The splendor of order
my thoughts and a nightingale singing
a pebble and thunder
The swan’s wings sweep the air
clouds coalesce like a quilt
the pond and I mirror the scene
The swan, lovely and silent
unruffled by wakes of passing boats
somewhere, a monk in contemplation.
Unafraid, swelling with confidence, she prays
the snow falls on top of trees
first week of December
My strength begins
paddles breaks the water
the ducks glide
The bell’s sounds of angelus
a moment of remembrance
farmers stand silent on the field
With darkening sky
poetic storm enters her vision
sharp and exhausting
Bowls and fields catch raindrops
seasons of need
umbrellas cover workers’ heads
Hummingbirds suddenly
seem to be everywhere
Chasing each other
or hovering over the lavender
The morning fog rises gently
You are standing in the midst, smiling.
I look at you and start talking
to myself.
You ask why ?
My way of clearing my mind
sometimes it gets crowded with thoughts.
Don’t you get frightened
when it gets empty?
Maybe that happens
when someone you love leaves,
walks away.
The hummingbirds leave one by one
and my friend
I am alone again.
The fog returns
I feel cold
I linger awhile
before I return home.
note: Books I’m reading: War and Peace. I was persuated by an article about Yiyun Li reading War and Peace once a year. And reading it along with others-Tolstoy Together.
Also reading Inseparable by Simone de Beauvoir.
note: I finished reading Bewilderment by Richard Powers. Re-reading Helgoland by Carlo Rovelli. Reading for the first time Paradise by Abdulrazak Gurnah, the new Nobel Prize winner in Literature.
Moments move our emotions, our life
How can I move like time
I am a humble hummingbird
Hovering over flowers until I am out breath
There is wisdom in the stones I will not know
Or a camaraderie with bees I will not experience
Where can I go my friend to touch the warmth of time
Perhaps I can find a child who will want a lullaby
My wings can sing her a song.
Foggy brain and random words
Introduced me to forest bathing
And being friendly with my neighbors
Walking in the woods makes me more attentive to sounds and light
Breathing fresh air with fragrance of trees and streams
My emotions calm down
I start feelings of gratitude
Each breath becomes easier and more regular
I feel connected to the world again
I can look at my pain and losses
Not wishing them to go away
But to go through them
And face them with gratitude
Every day is a new day
Appreciative of small and simple things
Like breathing, walking, dawn.
note: flowers I saw during my walk to the river today.
I feel good again. I resume walking today. A beautiful day.
The photos of today are from my mobile phone during my walk .
The bougainvillea greets me abundantly
like when I enter our kitchen
scent of fish stew on simmer
fills my senses
The fountain attracts attention
of squirrels carrying acorns
hiding in our neighbor’s redwood tree .
Will they be thirsty?
One lone umbrella and a table
near a bed of roses
like a fly fisherman standing alone
in a mountain stream
A white a statue sits on the wooden fence.
It moves, has wings. It’s an egret.
I hear hurried steps on the stairs and a voice.
Kaylee? Is that you?
It’s June. Everyone
is coming home.