Task

The rower’s strokes
The oars gliding flawless in the water
The geese fretting anxiously with my presence
I stand quiet and still, holding my cell phone
Aware they may suddenly fly
Each of us thinking different thoughts, writing our stories
The immensity of finding the first line
Like waiting for fresh saplings after a forest fire
Extracts and tiny nuggets from a voyage
Deep into a mine
With unrehearsed synchronicity we all move
Each in our own ways resume our tasks.

She

She arrives riding a bicycle,
Sits opposite me on the table.
We are members of a panel blind tasting wines.
Her possession of a sensitive palate and sharp intuition
promise her a thousand things.
She names the vintage,origin and varietals correctly .
Nothing seems to interfere with her thinking.

She stammers when excited and loves mouth watering green mangoes.
She writes with her left hand and uses the fork
with her right.She has a crystal-breaking like laugh

She appears on the appointed time and place for the wine tasting.
She is here. She is there.

Elegant in her simplicity and intellectually curious.
She disappears for a year to bicycle in Europe.

New encounters

87 degrees, sunny with some breeze. Mrs. Abstract kisses me goodbye. She is going to play Mexican Train with her friends from the Women’s Guild. I have a good reason to stay home and read.

Athletes subject themselves to “rigorous and exhausting discipline, giving up many comforts and pleasures.The contemplatives, (or monks) also submit themselves also to rigorous regimen.

When I consider the disciplines of the athletes and monks and compare them to myself I’m a small pebble in comparison. Their stories are distant but not too far away from me.

I pick my staff, and my cap and go out the house and start walking towards the river.

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A man, paraplegic, sitting on a wheelchair under a shade of a tree near the river, greets me with smile. He is enjoying the breeze. After a short conversation, we part after wishing each other a good day.

While standing on the river bank I see a sail boat with two riders coming to the inlet. I wave to them and the man greets me. I greet him back and wish the two riders a good day.

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Returning from the river I meet a gentleman wearing a yellow cap and sitting on a bench. We start talking. I am 93, he says when I ask him how old he is.

Returning home I see a man and his dog walking from the opposite end of the walkway.We exchange pleasantries. He introduces his dog as a cockerpood. He says it’s a breed between a cocker spaniel and a poodle. She is a quiet dog, hardly barks her master says.

My cell phone says 4 miles and 9,000 steps. It may not be accurate..

The meaning of reality is how one faces reality.