Happy Independence Day

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.

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Old Age

Where will they hide, the feral cats?

Cranes have ancient places to migrate to

With years added to years one thinks

Of these things like pointed pursuits.

 

One idea takes hold of another idea

Like rising pitch of a siren hurrying to a destination

Cranes know where to go

And where to return.

 

Dreams can be deep in the subconscious

Will functional imaging know?

Subconscious messages wanting explanations

Who will quote them?

 

Somewhere new light is emerging

The eagerness is hard to stop

Shortening years do not dwell on losses

Not in darkness but in new striving.

 

Life is to be mastered and celebrated

Life can be full to the end.

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Sublime

Can I see it or feel it?

Above simplicity?

I walk to the river

The part of the world opens

Other walkers walk alone

Or with their dogs or with other walkers

Nature greets us in songs and colorful displays

Do we need measurements

And ask : Will experience be sublime?

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Under a tree

Under a tree

A young boy returning from a walk to the river

Stops under a tree, glances at its little shade

Pulls from one of his pockets an orange

Starts peeling, dropping the peelings on the ground

Cuts a slice and puts it in his mouth.

Smiles, then resumes his walk.

 

I continue my walk towards the river.

A Palm Tree Blooms.

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Accumulation of solitudes, tumult of the heart diminishes 

until it’s just a whisper, light as a leaf

You have been longing 

to know your real self

During your walk

or when alone in the river

You feel your deep affinity with nature

with other creatures

Alone with the blue heron

or with other traveler

Pandemic awakens your consciousness,

shakens by injustice.

Beware when all the running stops

numbness sets in and silence.

Out of weariness and withered trees 

love will rise.

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Questions

We talked for hours

We compared our separate memories:

notebooks, cupcakes, candlelight dinners

Coming out at night after we ran out of dreams

Our arms were still empty

and waiting

like two anglers standing on a river bank

reviewing the science of angling,

studying the river landscape

Where are the insects?

the shadows, the deep hiding places

silence of pride and pleasure.

Imagine if life is timeless.

They pause for lunch.

Do the fish miss also the fisherman?

Tomorrow

We are  sheltered in for more than 2 months now. There are changes that everyone has noticed before: air is cleaner, less cars driving in the neighborhood, in the highways, the hills and mountains can be seen clearly. The world is new again.

But uncertainties remain. Vulnerability exposed. Maybe the same “vulnerability that songbirds feel every single day of their lives” as noted by Robin Wall Kimmerer., author of Braiding Sweetgarss.

Time is time. Not timeless.The pandemic reminds us of our impermanence.

There are now easings of restrictions. Our yearning for open space is more urgent. Will human touch be a strange feeling?

Tomorrow we hope to be curious again. Or maybe for the first time.

Tomorrow when I go out of the door I will be seeing a new world. One says, “ every beginning is monumental.” I will try to believe it.

 

note: 2 weeks ago I was hospitalized for 4 days. I was very sick with an infection. Not cobid-19. I was negative.

 I am home now and recovering favorably. I hope to resume walking to the river again everyday.

The book currently I’m reading or should I say I am listening at is Brading Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer