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.
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.
Mrs. Abstract and I just returned from holiday wine river cruise of the Duoro Valley in Portugal. Visited many places and sampled port wine in every excursions off the ship (or boat). We toured many gardens. We were always drinking wine with food.
Mrs. Abstract and I toured University of Salamanca. The Way of St. James, Santiago de Compostela, signified by the seashell passes through Salamanca.
I’m reading Moby Dick, part of a group-read through dolcebellezza, bloggers reading together a selected book. In the month of August Moby-Dick was the choice. One can follow the link:book
yesterday, I climbed 13 floors, walked more than 10,000 steps.
I have been walking for one hour everyday for two and a half weeks now. Napa River is near our neighborhood. I follow a loop that takes me about one hour. I stop a lot to observe, take photos and talk to people I meet. Many of them are other walkers and most are walking their dogs.
The photos I posted are some of those phots taken during my walk.
Walking can be a form of calming hour. A new article sings praises for walking:walking
The clouds flee
the dew hides
the sun reigns
Not a scratch in the sky
Like a voiceless bird
Will you offer praise?
Wait, there is a haziness,
A thin false disguise
A fire burns in a forest somewhere
Walking to the river is my quotidian proclimation
A morning with flashes of sharp breeze and exaggerated cloud formations
A fugitive or a caged bird
Life, a quilt floating in time, fertile and vulnerable
Always lacking in certainty
Piecing parcels together fuels the effort
Ages I scale are experiences of different personalities
Each stage has its own expressions and demands:
Writing, cooking, doing laundry—little things, mundane and sacred
The progression, a knowing like I felt everything
Fishemen, artists, lactating mothers, even geniuses
Want to live a real life of home.