Since my fall about 4 weeks ago I have not walked to the river until today. I walked halfway, easing my way slowly.
I felt good.
Yukka and palm trees shadow the sun
Thorns and leaves abound
Life.
Books I am reading:
Middlemarch by George Eliot
(with my Book Club)
Coming to Our Senses by Jon Kabat-Zinn
Walking
your eye catches
light’s reflection on a spider web
a hammock hanging between
a tree and fence
neurons interlaced to strengthen memory
a bridge for retrieval and deep learning
atoms, stars, horrors
of war, how to be a shepherd
the interlacing of flowers,
spices and herbs in a garden
flowers complementing appearances
and passion
plants to engender savory taste and texture
a simple life prepared a table of elegance
you resume walking
each step echoes
music of Beethoven, imaginative spark of
Virginia Wolff’s stream of consciousness
to express an exhilarating day.
The walkers rest
The vulture hovers
The woman in red is nowhere
I find a penny for your thoughts
How often do we return to a place of enchantment
How do we “recognize the infinite value of every moment”
Rilke says, we desperately try to hold these moments in our hands
Today in my walk I found 12 cents of coins on the ground
Place them among the fowers
A moment of happiness
Not because of the new found wealth
It completes the wholeness of the universe
A new day
58, cloudy, low tide
a woman and her daughter run
a dog runs with a red ball in his mouth
he drops intermittently to keep up with his master
A grandma pushes a stroller
two other children walking and talking
vultures hoover, ducks hurry on the river
My morning walk to the river
find excitement in the moment
experience the goodness of the earth
A man measures the distance between the trees
The distance of the trees from the path
The distance of the trees from the river
He looks at the sky
His mind can roam infinitely
“Leaving behind unilateral view of things”
Man is not the root of all things
He is not the measure of all things
He finishes his work
Returns home where he tends goats
And bees and grows a garden
He is the village philosopher.
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.
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