at sunrise
a bird leaves
its perch
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
yesterday
a snowstorm
a child was born
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
almost home
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
it happened
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.
Opening your school yearbook after so many years
memory are like high places we cling to
revelations can pain your heart
you want to resist but rawness is hard to hide
like a cry of a sparrow
eyes and face can reveal so easily
what is to inhabit bleakness of a future
or emotional existence when tethering from ordinary
but youthful exploits can ripen into awareness
mistakes can be forgiven
contradictions can come to resolutions
you can rise again after a wicked plunge
new leaf, new lines of relationships
can bloom in extraordinary clarity
you are a survivor.
Clattering sound of falling kitchen pans brushes aside her reverie
Her eyes fix on the sea
Fog distorts perception of distance, silence ushers thinking confidently
She adjusts herself in the writing table
With a new ambition
She writes, her fingers trembling with words.
Evening crickets will summon her to sleep
The rooster will wake her before dawn
Seldom she considers to stray outside these boundaries
Her stories wanting to be heard
Like mute feelings suddenly freed from captivity
How to express the river’s yearnings
The delicate exposure of what is hidden
Abundant play before learning the alphabets
The forest changes, weather comes with seasons
She feels fresh facing open spaces, the deep and simple questions, enhancement and pruning
The mysteries of truth and moments of need
Finding her way in intricacies of language
If she has nothing to say, she stays silent.
She may play her violin in front of the llamas
Or she may hold the cat close to her chest
Hum a melody to its ear
Don’t let desire turn to dreaming and fades
Even when distance dims
She has to consider the end
What is meaningful to her
To flourish the goodness life
And encourage herself to cultivate
Habits of the heart.
I like carrying a yellow parasol
protects me from rain
sometimes it balance my thoughts
from crowds, sudden jolts
opens to social distancing,
a companion in my walks
If I am meeting a friend
I am easy to distinguish
In a crowded train station
Suffering can be cruel
yellow seems to soften my emotion
It’s New Year
you will understand changes.
An orphan she has
Few stories to tell, few attachments
How could she show passion,
Or care for someone
But she knows where ripe plums are,
Which mushrooms are edible
Where to find spring water, safe and crystal clear
How to be resourceful
Habit and prudence and street smart
She starts learning the constellations,
Learns how to be afraid and be calm
She looks at the flowering vines,
Sleeps like an owl and wakes up
To her full height, realizes
Distances between trees, between her
And trees, her and others
She is a distance of her own.
Things she cherishes, go away
Teaches her gratitude.
Her beautiful eyes say, thank you.
note: The book I’m reading: Ten keys to Reality by Frank Wilczek.
I will have surgery on my right ear next week. The discomfort is tolerable at the present time.
Sometimes I have to take some analgesics.
Traveling for so many days
435 bridges and 234 tunnels
Losing landmarks and diverting to side excursions
A lavish description of arriving somewhere
After getting lost
Like newlyweds entering their first house
Whatever the sizable differences are
They can be traced to algorithms
Like sentences they have to learn because they are new
After awhile they can talk and understand
The end is an accomplishment
Carried by patience and time.
They are foreign to each other
Like a blinding snowstorm before beginning of summer
Afterwards seasons go uninterrupted, seem seamless
Though there are days of grief
Some days of longing, others of mirth
Ambiguity eases into familiar themes
They arrive to a place they understand
Life changes gradually into bliss
Remembering words of Aristotle
We yearn to reach the good at the end.
Moments move our emotions, our life
How can I move like time
I am a humble hummingbird
Hovering over flowers until I am out breath
There is wisdom in the stones I will not know
Or a camaraderie with bees I will not experience
Where can I go my friend to touch the warmth of time
Perhaps I can find a child who will want a lullaby
My wings can sing her a song.
Invent reality?
Is there a minimum of thought
One has to do everyday?
She is playing a guitar
and humming then singing
about ideas and consequences
then stops and starts writing furiously
“Examine your own courage
if you can get up every morning
with a better will than the day before?”
A cat comes, nozzles in her arms
She touches her with equal affection
then she looks at me and exclaims:
“Is it sad or meaningful or ostentatious to say—
I hiked Switzerland the whole summer?
Or I hug cows to relieve my stress?”
The cat jumps, goes to the window, sits purring.
Time folds, distorts harmony of living
Why bemoans the loss during the pandemic
Thousands are dying, millions lost their jobs,
thousands are lining up for food.
Time has changed unlike any other time:
A call for one another to stay together.
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