The past are things I do not know
The present are things I can not touch
The future is a cat in the act of jumping
“Deep in your soul you don’t want to be the last.”
I decide I will go south
To master something I have to comprehend it first
I will carry a camera with a simple admonition
“How can I make them blind to my presence?”
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.
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
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
I walked farther today than the previous days: three miles. I crossed Napa River on an elevated bridge and connected to the river trail, to the downtown then returned home on another street.
It was 65 degrees, sunny with a cool breeze. I met along the way other walkers and cyclists. We all practiced the safe distancing. There colorful flowers and plants and art.
I stopped a lot to take photos.
We are sheltered in.
Allowed to go out to take walks
Or get basic essentials for daily living.
I walk to the river for fresh air and scenery
The clouds form many disguises
The blue heron comes then flies away
Horses nonchalant in its movements
Tiny flowers adorn the lawn
My daily miracle.
Saturday morning, crispy cool, I joined other Waterways Keepers volunteers and cleaned up the Riverside Park along Napa River.
I found these yellow wild flowers growing along the riverbank.
At The River
The lines are cast
The fish are not biting
A fisherman wonders why
I don’t know
From a distance in the walking path
Two walkers are approaching
Ask them the question when they arrive.
The base of a tree is surrounded by stones
The other trees are not.
It’s winter even in a tiny vineyard
Meantime I’m walking back home
I’m thinking what I will have for lunch
Will xfinity know?
Walking around the kitchen, dining room
She notices words on boxes, objects on the walls
On papers lying around the tables
She hears the sounds, sees images, juxtapositions
She remembers her mother
making wreaths out of corks
She arranges her own
Made of mushrooms and marshmallows, crackers and fruits
She remembers when her mother took her to an art museum
They saw Monet’s paintings of haystacks and water lilies
She remembers her mother
took her and toured a pineapple plantation
She imagines Monet painting
rows and rows of pineapples
How about rows and rows of olive trees
Will he get tired of them?
She wishes she can ask her mother
She will know.
After a few days of rain it’s sunny and an enjoyable day to walk to the river. The meadow is green again and the blue heron is back. The roses are still in bloom. Someone forgets a lion.
It’s a new year and a new beginning.