Birds in flight

Last week Mrs. Abstract and I visited Gearhart, a small village next to Seaside, Oregon with some friends one of which was celebrating her 80th birthday. We occupied a house situated  on the bank of an estuary. Every morning I woke up early to glimpse the sunrise,  stayed all day watching the high tide comes to the estuary. In the afternoon we watched the sunset.

There were many birds that came ove to the shallow pond left by the tide. It was a relaxed five days with clear and temperate weather. We told stories while sipping wines and eating home cooked meals.

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The birds and flowers

I tried to walk to the river everyday.I stpo a lot to write phrases that come in my head, take photos, or talk to people I meet.

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Three walkers are ahead of me: One going towards the river and 2 are returning from the river.

A reflection from a tree catches my attention. A spider web.

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Afterwards I start looking for the birds. I hear their calls and songs during my walk.

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I pass by clusters of flowers.

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A fisherman in a boat comes around.

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I walk the same path home

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and find early arrival of ghosts.

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The day is cool but sunny. The colors are starting to change.

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A day

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Quietly your self worth diminishes

like salt on a pavement

your voice loses its tone, forgotten.

Who will remember you?

A shadow in a system.

You cry. New tide comes,

covers the muddy river bank.

The white egret returns.

You survive another day.

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Note: Last week Mrs. Abstract and I and our two friends toured Andy Warhol’s art Exhibit at MOMA in San Francisco, California. Very interesting.

Books I’m currently reading: Moby Dick by Melville and Paris, 7 A.M. by Liza Wieland, a novel about a young Elizabeth Bishop.