63 degrees, sunny, the tide is going upstream
Maybe
the scope of your vision is narrow,
the field is wide, memory may falter,
movement, persistence, diminishes
distance between remembering,
words will come in baskets
no barren day or empty life
even dreams have voices
do not cease
to take care of yourself
Rise, go, where nature lives.
“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.
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.
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.
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.
Avoidance of annoyances repeatedly
Life remains in narrowed preferences
I know some words to add, some experiences
To relate, must not let them fade away
I open my eyes in the morning
Utter my first intelligent thought
A praise may be or a prayer
To see, not necessarily to understand
Not inquisitive but to experience
Is it too late now to find the reason
For not knowing?
My relationship ends unexpectedly
Without any arguments or strained voices
A decent separation, not devoting time
To keep each other’s attention
The dinner loses the delicious taste
We become monuments to each other.
Sometimes one has to cross a perilous river
To deliver a letter of forgiveness.
note: I finished reading Piranesi by Susanna Clarke and Kant’s Little Prussian Head & Other Reasons Why I Write, an autobiography in essays by Claire Messud.
I’m reading Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke which I started reading a long time ago but never finished and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. All these long reads in the time of Covid.
It’s Friday and a very warm day. At the moment it’s 100 F degrees. I went to our county library to pick up a book this morning when it was only 85 degrees.
Afterwards I went to the promenade along the riverfront. On my return walk I passed through the hotel corridor leading to the 2 restaurants in the hotel complex.
I took a few photos of fresh and dried hydrangeas and few other things.
A bird flies inside a house then struggles to get out
Open the door, open the windows
Sounds like a flag in the pole snapping with the wind
Frantic almost insane then the bird finds the open window
A young boy looks, follows the bird’s flight
Happens so quickly like lightning on a summer afternoon
He sits down and thinks:
How should I welcome the unexpected?
Could life be different or better?
edgarone2