From the balcony

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I am sitting on a chair,

eating an egg cheese sandwich

next to a table where

a blue jay is alighting

my seem absurd

The surprise is I’m not surprised

a natural way of recognition

maybe a sacred moment

an angel disguised as a bird

a simple intimate detail of grace.

Below on the walking path

mountain hikers indulge the outdoors, sunshine

somewhere, everywhere the virus rages.

Change of pace

73849845-8E72-4B3D-B628-2A19D1D16578After a few days delay Mrs. Abstract and I finally drove up the mountains today. We were scheduled to leave on Monday but I did not feel well. I felt better last night. We brought a lot of food to limit trips to the grocery store and limit eating out in restaurants.

We will try to stay inside the condo. Walk and hike in the woods, reading and maybe writing. I play chess while Mrs. Abstract watch movies.

It’s quiet here in the mountains although when we arrived there were thunderstorms.

Books I am reading: Divine Comedy by Dante. Translated by Hollander & Hollander. I’m starting Roberto Bolaño 2666.

 

The Little Things

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In life is not easy to calculate our losses

Or emphasize our gains

There are disguises that betray us

Our vision is not always sharp to distinguish differences

Today like most days

I walk to the river

Others have similar ideas

I encounter a blue heron,

A lone bird resting on the reeds

And red flowers radiant in the sun.

Length of Stay

Length of Stay

There is no more boredom or uneven walk on the hiking trail
No more mere acorns and colored pebbles from the riverbed
A new day of catastrophe’s widening reach
Wearing a mask wherever one goes
Suspicion of catching the virus when traveling, talking with friends and strangers
Living in narrow corridors
A suffocating feeling, counting the hours
Waiting when the end come?
With fear of being left alone and contagious

Today I walk to the river
There is a pink breasted bird flying from one branch to another, from one tree to another tree
Tweeting and communicating in a high pitch bird talk
I see a fisherman attending to his line
The fish has not touched any of his baits
But living is not all about intensity and patience
Not all about uncertainties and business hours
Life is also about the every day simplicity: corn on the cob and opening an umbrella during the rain,
A good book, kind thoughts, and Beethoven
And kissing you goodnight.

The Path

“We just arrived,” say the fishermen

“It’s a Siberian huskie,” he says.

“They become cold easily,” she says

Both dogs are wearing colorful sweaters.

Day’s radiance lifts my feet

I meet them in my walk 

The same path every morning whenever I can

As if I’m trying remember each column of trees,

Their abundant leaves and shades.

 

I often think of Camino de Compostela.

I hold with interest Appalachian Trail.

I hear the sounds of hot air balloons overhead

I better get going

Thoughts can escape

I can’t separate appearances and their contents

The dogs, fishermen, river and its tides

One doesn’t have to wonder where poems come from. 

 

The walk brings life to life.

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