The Place

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The Place

The surprise of hearing my own voice

like seeing slivers of light filtered between the trees

The words are whispered which I could have missed

Words of encouragement, a push

My eyes are closed, my attention sharpened

I am resting a bit after walking long

My breathing is trying to catch up with my steps

In trying to reach my goal I struggle

There are benches, handrails, sources of spring water

I am vulnerable but not feeble.

I am not alone, or helpless

Though night is approaching I am not lost.

Is it the wind or spirit descends from above the trees

A voice telling me a place in eternity

The place where I am going.

 

Farther than before

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.

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A new reality

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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.

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At The River

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8E5397D0-B672-47FF-B507-0F5BFDB8A7D5At 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?

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The Path

“We just arrived,” say the fishermen

“It’s a Siberian huskie,” he says.

“They become cold easily,” she says

Both dogs are wearing colorful sweaters.

Day’s radiance lifts my feet

I meet them in my walk 

The same path every morning whenever I can

As if I’m trying remember each column of trees,

Their abundant leaves and shades.

 

I often think of Camino de Compostela.

I hold with interest Appalachian Trail.

I hear the sounds of hot air balloons overhead

I better get going

Thoughts can escape

I can’t separate appearances and their contents

The dogs, fishermen, river and its tides

One doesn’t have to wonder where poems come from. 

 

The walk brings life to life.

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The birds and flowers

I tried to walk to the river everyday.I stpo a lot to write phrases that come in my head, take photos, or talk to people I meet.

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Three walkers are ahead of me: One going towards the river and 2 are returning from the river.

A reflection from a tree catches my attention. A spider web.

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Afterwards I start looking for the birds. I hear their calls and songs during my walk.

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I pass by clusters of flowers.

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A fisherman in a boat comes around.

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I walk the same path home

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and find early arrival of ghosts.

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The day is cool but sunny. The colors are starting to change.

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