The days pass like rain falling between your fingers
You are unaware the mountain’s summit disappears, river dries up
You worry yourself about deadlines and profits
Perception narrows, words evaporate between us
The time passes the definitive, irreversible point
Your distraction is being too focused
Like a robot whose full devotion is to vacuum the living room.
Ride the wave one writer says
Pretend every word you have written is true
The stone arrangement has meaning
Messiness is a word seldom heard
A childhood of uncoordinated colors
Always there and barely noticed.
Soon it will be New Year
Another node in a chain of changes
Like looking forward to frequent distractions
Errands to make, barrels to blend
Will it be jazz or folk songs?
Should I invite her to watch the sunset?
There will be time for silhouettes
I have to remember to adjust the aperture
Light and time are never still
There are other more dangerous propositions.
note: Books I’m reading:
The Practice of Contemplative Photography by Andy Karr and Michael Wood
The Creative Artist by Nita Leland
Abandon by Pico Iyer
Still Writing by Dani Shapiro