LOVE

Love

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.

 

To begin again

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.

 

Realization

I walk slow

as if it is too cold to walk

It’s only autumn

no icicles are hanging yet from tree branches

with stiff knees I struggle

to gain only a short distance

as if crawling

I’m not too old either

Agility is not a property of the young

I’m too young and ashamed

to realize I’ve grown old.

Foggy morning

To have known you

You are brimming with gaiety

Paddling the kayak together  for one hour 

One foggy morning

The river at high tide

The moments of astonishment

Are more than enough  for me

To welcome winter.

Listen

I walk to the river this morning

listen to the songs the birds are singing

and the sounds of my feet touching the earth.

Have you heard recently

the sound of your feet 

walking over autumn leaves?

 

 

Three Men in a Boat

May be

May be the path has more leaves now

Than when we passed by the day before

Your mind is somewhere else since your friend left

You are not paying attention.

But you still return to the river to fish.

Little Things

 

Walking to the river is my quotidian proclimation

A morning with flashes of sharp breeze and exaggerated cloud formations

A fugitive or a caged bird

Life, a quilt floating in time, fertile and vulnerable

Always lacking in certainty

Piecing  parcels together fuels the effort

Ages I scale are experiences of different personalities

Each stage has its own expressions and demands:

Writing, cooking, doing laundry—little  things, mundane and sacred

The progression, a knowing like I felt everything

Fishemen, artists, lactating mothers, even geniuses

Want to live a real life of home.

Monday morning rain

A glorious day