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.
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.
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?
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.
Accumulation of solitudes, tumult of the heart diminishesÂ
until it’s just a whisper, light as a leaf
You have been longingÂ
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 treesÂ
love will rise.
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?
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
It’s not shyness
The energy hides in the heaps
of shelters
You can look but the present is unique
in its solitary hours
voluntarily you read the shadows silently
capture them in words and instant moment photos
the yearning to hold your hands is overwhelming
I’m sorry.
I captured the flower moon last night with plain sky. I did not have any plant or tree or other backgrounds to align the moon. I’m sorry for the just the black sky and the moon.
The book I’m re-reading: The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus.
A tiny sun drenched backyard
bougainvillea luxuriantly blooms
unbounded, like eternity
Books I finished reading during the pandemic:
The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton
Victory by Joseph Conrad
Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah
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