From the balcony

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I am sitting on a chair,

eating an egg cheese sandwich

next to a table where

a blue jay is alighting

my seem absurd

The surprise is I’m not surprised

a natural way of recognition

maybe a sacred moment

an angel disguised as a bird

a simple intimate detail of grace.

Below on the walking path

mountain hikers indulge the outdoors, sunshine

somewhere, everywhere the virus rages.

The Little Things

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In life is not easy to calculate our losses

Or emphasize our gains

There are disguises that betray us

Our vision is not always sharp to distinguish differences

Today like most days

I walk to the river

Others have similar ideas

I encounter a blue heron,

A lone bird resting on the reeds

And red flowers radiant in the sun.

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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Settlement

Settled and living near the ocean

I entered a world of birds

Learning how they look and sound,

Knowing their habits and peculiarities

A new vocabulary of patience and attentive eyes,

A binocular and waking to a new way of looking

Slowly birds became like friends and companions

Swelling of delights trailing after the bird’s daily calls

Hastening the retreat of boredom hinting no return.

Today, Saturday, I walked in the afternoon. It was cool 63 degrees. I brought my camera to take photos of the birds I see during my walk to the river. I know the blue heron and the red wing blackbird but I don’t know the other birds.

Books I am reading:

The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas merton

Mastering the Art of French Eating by Ann Mah

A Beautiful Question by Frank Wilczek

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Discordant

The birds flew south

Walking in the forest

I heard silence

With echoes of sadness

After you left

The books remained unread

Arranged on top of each other

In alphabets of absence

Some words are missing

In discordant conversations

The strings were adjusted

I was able to sleep

After a very long wait.

A month ago.

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If Birds Can Talk

If birds can talk

Like on my other days

I perched that morning

On a flowering fennel along the river.

I saw you coming towards me, holding

In your left hand a walking stick,

A camera in your right hand

I waited for you to get close

Close enough to take my picture

Before I flew away.

Like on your many other days

You might not notice or remember

The little things, good things

You could do

For others.

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