taken from Diary of a Word Nerd:https://www.juliatomiak.com
I walked to the river before noon. Mrs. Abstract was doing her aquatic exercises in a friend’s pool.
The day was sunny with a warm breeze. Other walkers were enjoying the day. The fishermen were patient. The boaters were in full colors.
Happy Independence Day.
May be it’s to answer a call or blind fate in finding something
You decide to hike the Appalachian Trail.
The trail is kind to the brave and humble
The pain and sweat and determination
Stay with every step in solidarity with others.
To reach the summit the climb becomes steeper
You have to grab handholds firmly
And pull yourself up with steady upper body strength
In the thin air your heart has to persevere
Your legs gather the steps almost like forever
You do not lose sight of your stamina and purpose
Till a shout of triumphal gratitude.
You are in your nineties now
Seldom mention the deep meaning of your accomplishment
You often smile when someone talks about hiking or a climb
You walk only two to three miles a day.
Questions when I was a freshman
One has to have affection for those who do sweat producing work
They grind their way
The results, decent and laudable
Worth of respect and smile
And who can say, they will not chase goats for a game or
not write a guide for the perplexed.
Can you be loyal and articulate to an attachment you revere?
My heart is as peaceful as the snow falling on top of the trees.
I will not need a hammer
to make a yogurt
I may need a loom
to weave a tapestry
To find lost civilizations
I have to dig hard and deep
The ordinariness of routines,
struggle and perseverance
The devoted hours of monks:
prayers, sleep, work
I will have to master my hands
may not need a trowel or shovel
to work my way through
to find a needle, diamond, or poem
hidden inside a haystack.
“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.
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.
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.
It will be difficult to thread a needle
If you are farsighted.
He loses his temper and throws the dental floss
He doesn’t want to talk or smile.
She doesn’t chase the last word anymore when she talks
She observes the three bees on the rhododendron.
He drives in the forest and along the coast
He is calm under the redwood trees.
She drops the vase filled with water and flowers on the living room
Her right hand is bleeding.
He helps her clean up
They decide to make amends.
“Seize the day,” the poet says
Helping others is the crowning praise.
It’s wonderful when verb and adjectives are used together
I like crabs dancing under the candle lights.
When pronouns drop in , it’s hilarious
All the nouns scatter.
They are laughing walking on the beach
Beethoven is a pianist, then a composer.
Experience of loss and sad endings are dispersed in life
They are secret ingredients of freedom.
She runs alone, alone with her own thoughts
The hardest challenge.
Failure, triumph, dried tears, lost tracts of time
In sepia then autumn raging with colors.
Embroidery is a sacred craft
We welcome new threads.
“I think we’re creative all day long. And we have to have an appointment to have that work out on the page.”