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.
edgarone2
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