The failed experiment will not be a singular experience
could be wide with ramifications
is it unusual to have unhappiness early in life
and to have fullness of life later?
Sighting an uncommon bird
will be peculiar day.
a point of celebration.
The jellyfish dance,
glitter in the night
Walking in Festival of Lights
a bird leaves
a tree painted blue
a wind chime hangs from a branch
a bird sings from faraway
a mother looks at her child
imagines colors of her voice
the sun recedes behind the mountains
she adjusts the aperture
takes all the photos
a long story begins
a child was born
Can the flowers hear
Do butterflies whisper their wishes
I’m alone walking along a forest path
My hair shines in the sun
You can follow me
Wherever you are
I pace my steps
Aware of watchful eyes
I’m reluctant to stray from the path
The mountain may shake
Obliterate my awareness
Dictionary may not suffice
The majesty in scarcity
Can elevate my expectations
Tomorrow I will start early
Inaugurate a new attentiveness.
note: It’s invigorating to be able to walk to the river again. I met a lot of walkers walking their dogs or their friend’s dogs. The air is clear and the sky is blue. Simple things.
The leaves were changing colors.
Today on my third day
of walking after the fall
I reached the river.
I saw a blue heron, maybe
a younger one, feathers paler blue
Bending down to tighten my shoe laces
I found a penny next to my shoe
I felt richer.
Is it a journal or diary
or just doodling?
Both need writing
We drink a bottle of wine
The moon shines on the town square
Tomorrow we will go fly fishing
We spread our vacation days
Seldom we feel so fresh
And asking questions.
What will be to light our way
Knowledge or experience?
Since my fall about 4 weeks ago I have not walked to the river until today. I walked halfway, easing my way slowly.
I felt good.
Yukka and palm trees shadow the sun
Thorns and leaves abound
Books I am reading:
Middlemarch by George Eliot
(with my Book Club)
Coming to Our Senses by Jon Kabat-Zinn
There was once a place
Where the mountain breaks the softness of sunrise
Where fishermen sing while tending their nets
Where I grew up,
The narrow streets and old houses play in my sleep
People meander and talk at sunset
On Saturdays a farmer’s market
Filled with animated visitors.
I miss the place.
The past is part of the present
I will understand happiness
Depends on differences of small things
Will make sense later
I am fit not from running
But from gardening
I want you to come with me
And visit this place
You are a good listener.
Can be full of chatter.
I become too familiar
With the world around
There are possibilities
We can laugh together.
your eye catches
light’s reflection on a spider web
a hammock hanging between
a tree and fence
neurons interlaced to strengthen memory
a bridge for retrieval and deep learning
atoms, stars, horrors
of war, how to be a shepherd
the interlacing of flowers,
spices and herbs in a garden
flowers complementing appearances
plants to engender savory taste and texture
a simple life prepared a table of elegance
you resume walking
each step echoes
music of Beethoven, imaginative spark of
Virginia Wolff’s stream of consciousness
to express an exhilarating day.
Walking to the river
I met many women walkers today
in twos, in threes
walking a dog,
walking a stroller
walking with a walker
I heard conversations
words I could not understand
I passed by an adult retirement home
glanced at people playing bocce
The sun was higher now
In crossing a street
my shoe stubbed the edge,
Like a lightning, I hydroplaned
on a concrete walkway,
For a moment I could not believe
large bruises on my knees,
palms of my hand
my stick laying in front of me,
my eyeglasses, intact
my bones, none were broken
A car stopped,
a lady driver got out, offered
to help me. I thanked her
I stood up on my own.
I arrived home to attend
to my wounds.
I was full of gratitude.
An extraordinary day
The books I am currently reading: Middlemarch by George Eliot and The Artist’s Journey by Marcia Shaver.
Jammed with the rocks at the riverbank
Submerged in water at high tide
Saved by a fisherman brought inland
Now you are with flowers along the walkway
Which journey will I find you again?
You can’t venture on your own.
Will you vanish somewhere
Or drift into oblivion
What will happen if Kierkegaard
or Salvador Dali find you?
I don’t think I will be dancing in strawberry field
I may write about absurdity of abandoned grocery carts.
Perhaps some ideas are astonishing
We think of wild things
Like kissing at the middle of storm
I will not be writing in Russian.
note: The book I am reading: Either/Or by Elif Batuman.