CHOICES

“Joy like a river in her soul”, words of a young boy

Sharing his mother’s state of being. 

A town nestled next to a river

How does one tear down and build anew?

River dredging begins Flood Control Master Plan.

Town awakens, sounds of bulldozers and cranes, 

People wearing helmets working

Design to demolish, preserve, develop, convert

Empty complexes, aging structures, dormant land 

Long deliberations in what the town needs:

Hotels, shops, restaurants, or something abstract

Community park in summer turns flood diversion space in winter.

Building a promenade on riverfront, 

Passageway along railroad tracks,

Connecting Vine Trail, continuity without impediments

Collaboration with artists and role of the arts,

A time for coffee and twisted cinnamon rolls.

One accent, the Passages, a segment of passageway 

Once a haven for graffiti’s passion and restlessness

Now a channel for artistic expressions,

Vivid, vibrant, living project

Come, look, linger, get involve.

Walking home I hum a Dave Brubeck’s tune

I prepare smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwich, 

A bowl of peach yogurt and blackberries for lunch.

I take my time. I do not eat with haste.

Like town dreamers, like my friends

I, too, have choices and concerns

Should I join the frenzy of high technology

Pulsing reminders of “constantly possible productive moments”

Or walk with artists and pilgrims in shared humanity

Learn value of life, bear the task, persevere?

In my solitary walk, my mind can’t remain still

How will the young boy paint the river?

Let image follow imagination like spells of delight

Art’s idea whispers, shouts, bends then leaps to clarity

A journey of praise of what one truly loves.

In art and life, one will leave one day, the other stays.

I will write my praise.

Into The Woods

Foggy brain and random words

Introduced me to forest bathing 

And being friendly with my neighbors

Walking in the woods makes me more attentive to sounds and light

Breathing fresh air with fragrance of trees and streams

My emotions calm down

I start feelings of gratitude

Each breath becomes easier and more regular

I feel connected to the world again

I can look at my pain and losses

Not wishing them to go away

But to go through them

And face them with gratitude

Every day is a new day

Appreciative of small and simple things

Like breathing, walking, dawn.

note: flowers I saw during my walk to the river today.

Wet and Dry

Today was a very sad for our country. An “insurrection” breached the U.S. Capitol which was eventually repulsed.

We had a very good rain On Monday. Yesterday I walked to the river. It rained again today.

Last few weeks I watched chess tournaments on line. During the last a few days I started to play chess with a friend. 

I have a hard time writing poetry recently.

Musings on Sunday After Christmas

Hide in a shelter of trees in the woods and listen to avian conversations, sweet songs and chatter

Serenades in chants of love songs, birds flirting, time phrases

Simultaneous displays of affection

When evening comes, lie down on the meadow to ease you muscle aches and back discomfort

Watch the stars appear ten by ten until you can’t count them anymore

Your brain nudges the hammock of neural synapses connecting lifelines of attention and comfort

The fragrance of grass, beauty of flower garlands open your senses to a new chemistry

The body is intelligent in an unknown way and know what to subtract and add in wholesome well being before you yourself knows what’s happening.

Open space embrace with soothing air and mountain views like a sanctuary as if nature is speaking to you. And understand emotionally what the birds are singing. The secret is not what you imagine but what you feel.

You know you will need tremendous courage to follow your own rules.

Some songs and calls are fading

The birds are facing extinction

Encroachment in their habitats or human neglect

The birds chant offers a sense of place and time and peace

We are losing the outdoors richness when our winged friends leave or die.

Don’t abandon the birds, they are helpless pretty creatures and friends

If you don’t answer your questions you have to find one who can. Don’t presume you are the first one to ask.

Vulnerability

The story, in the telling, sounds unreal like a dream,she is there,

She is telling it like it’s presently evolving,happening in real time,

not extracting it from memory

To rise again when all striving seems to have been all exhausted is a man of honor and courage. I can aspire to be that man who participates.

First let me wash the the dishes. Unclean sink does not promise a good dish. A hungry man does not mean he does not wants to eat a delicious dish. 

Brene Brown says “vulnerability is not a weakness “. Vulnerability is like a tire that has to pass all kinds of terrain to show real character, it’s resilience.

Mrs. Abstract and I and with two of our friends went to Spain last year. We visited Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.

A Day in the Life of

Though I will miss my lunch

I am not hungry to eat yet

I am exuberantly eager to walk to the river

I don’t want to confess I want to see her again 

A woman who walks with a yellow parasol

I do not feel embarrassed I do not speak her language

I feel sad for not learning the language when I was young.

Today is a different day

Everyone wishes “a somewhere to be”

The day when the lockdown begins

The day that nobody wants.

I want focus my attention to the pathway

Lined by sycamore, birch, maple and other trees I can not name

I am still astonished by soft touches of leaves falling on my head

And hearing crackling sound of leaves that I walk on 

A day of circumstances

One blue heron and 4 egrets gathered on the riverbank

All looking at the river

Two sea otters playing diverts also my attention 

Their heads bobbing up and under the water surface

I change my attention to the birds

They also sense my new interest

I experience the birds play of teasing

Two egrets fly away chasing each other.

Then comes a paddle boarder in the river

He bends down pulling back his paddle

Propelling himself down the river

Stands up, bends and paddles on the left

Propels himself forward again

Downstream he will turn around before he is swallowed by the sea

Paddles back to where he starts his day

Robust and happy for his accomplishment

The day may not be of bewilderment

But it is a day of sun but without rain

I’m happy to take photographs and write a poem

About how we live in a worried world

A reality we can change with our untapped power.

note: The book I just finished reading: Dirt by William Buford. Entertaining, funny, French way of cooking. Wonderful.

My Saturday Walk to the River

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

I walked to the river yesterday and today.

A gift of will and grace.

Our table is full of gratitude.

Happy Thanksgiving Day.

note: Thanksgiving day is tomorrow.

Musing over a cup of coffee

Have you seen a cat weeping?

Or a thirsty squirrel?

A pause, practice deep involvement

From a splendid height

A kestrel watches

Graceful speed, finesse.

Lots of letters to answer

Diminish the clutter

Walk softly on the circled path

You live, find meaning

Practice virtues

Not incomprehensible

Even if you live in Istanbul or Damascus

Or in time of pandemic

Each day can be of gratitude.

Art does not explain

You experience beauty or riddle 

Or something significant.

The View from a Window

The bougainvillea greets me abundantly 

like when I enter our kitchen 

scent of fish stew on simmer 

fills my senses

The fountain attracts attention

of squirrels carrying acorns 

hiding in our neighbor’s redwood tree . 

Will they be thirsty?

One lone umbrella and a table  

near a bed of roses 

like a fly fisherman standing alone 

in a  mountain stream

A white a statue sits on the wooden fence. 

It moves, has wings. It’s an egret.

I hear  hurried steps on the stairs and a voice.

Kaylee? Is that you?

It’s June. Everyone

is coming home.