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
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
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
Can you see the blackbird?
The books I am currently reading: Middlemarch by George Eliot and The Artist’s Journey by Marcia Shaver.
Jammed with the rocks at the riverbank
Submerged in water at high tide
Saved by a fisherman brought inland
Now you are with flowers along the walkway
Which journey will I find you again?
You can’t venture on your own.
Will you vanish somewhere
Or drift into oblivion
What will happen if Kierkegaard
or Salvador Dali find you?
I don’t think I will be dancing in strawberry field
I may write about absurdity of abandoned grocery carts.
Perhaps some ideas are astonishing
We think of wild things
Like kissing at the middle of storm
I will not be writing in Russian.
note: The book I am reading: Either/Or by Elif Batuman.
voices rising, footsteps of children
soul of a new day
start a work,
a particular work
to find a worthy self
before a final stage
there is a longing
when work is done
life is still incomplete
seeking until the end
doing and giving
the highest region of life
Is it a messy tangle
or a real knot?
She disappears in the crowd.
note: Books I finished reading: The Present Alone Is Our Happiness by Pierre Hadot.
The book I am currently reading: Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
A man measures the distance between the trees
The distance of the trees from the path
The distance of the trees from the river
He looks at the sky
His mind can roam infinitely
“Leaving behind unilateral view of things”
Man is not the root of all things
He is not the measure of all things
He finishes his work
Returns home where he tends goats
And bees and grows a garden
He is the village philosopher.
A battered penny among the flowers
The tide is flowing out the river
It’s 73 degrees and sunny
I greet a fisherman
Meet 2 pretty spaniels, King Charles spaniels
A runner with headphones
A duck needs another duck
Connect yourself to a wider world
Transcendence is not achieved alone.
Today is similar to yesterday
It’s 75 degrees today
A plane cruises above positioning for landing
A bird flies skimming the water
As if testing its flying skills
As for me, watching and remembering.
Sometimes you want to spend a day to idleness
Some people are not for greatness
You have to know which one to elevate, which one to endure
To choose one character is an act of courage
Dancing when you should be praying
When procrastination awakes doubt enters
You fast while in the temple of Weeping Women
To cleanse yourself
Tomorrow morning, early, you will visit the waterfalls
And enter the cave behind the falling waters
A shelter for you till beauty
And strength thread in your consciousness:
An armadillo waking
An astonishing reflection in its eyes
note: photos are from my wlak to the river on Thursday. The day is sunny and warm. Beautiful day to go out .
Life is not a simple flow of time
A lived experience
a taste of beauty
then taken away
Is there enjoyment in being immortal
though everything you touch is not permanent
a statue, a stone, unlike a snowflake
everyone will pass away
and you remain
with all your elaborate memories.
Can we still ask
and live life’s hard question
or remain submerged in modern angst?
Or are we waiting like a jar
to fall into fragments on the floor?
Or do we bloom for each other on virtual reality?
In the reddening sun
we should not be content
just to be alive.
note: I finished reading the book, Paris in the Present Tense by Mark Helprin. About time, art and life and love.
It’s becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need to leave the familiar, but I don’t want to do it entirely alone-I want to seek others who can offer perspective into my predicament, who can help guide my passage.”
-Suleika Jaouad, Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted
63 degrees, sunny, the tide is going upstream
the scope of your vision is narrow,
the field is wide, memory may falter,
movement, persistence, diminishes
distance between remembering,
words will come in baskets
no barren day or empty life
even dreams have voices
do not cease
to take care of yourself
Rise, go, where nature lives.
What are cruel works for man?
The siren paves a way
rage to be heard
or hurry to offer remedy
someone cries for help
arrival then silence
Start of another story
One may not walk away
drastic alteration of meanings
the grief rises when
one doesn’t listen
but invisible energy emerges
when someone cares
After all this thinking
I arrive at a camp at Lake Millinockett
to fish for brown trout.
note: The book I’m reading: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron