Don't step on my shadow's heart, it might break.Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Random observations
Recognized and acknowledging a familiar yet unknown face.
She signs, No!, and like a willful child her passenger climbs out of the car intent on being the hero tries to get the car out of the snow bank with no success. Sits back in the car and dials her cell phone.
Penciled eyebrows and embroidered jeans thinning hair pulled back, not to harsh, mid 50ish, skin just beginning to show signs of her youth escaping her watching curiously another passenger.
He gets on the bus every morning clutching to his chest a backpack. He holds it so tight as if it contains all of his most valuable worldly possessions. Slides his bus pass and walks to the back of the bus - always the back. I wonder does he observe as I do. We exit at the same stop, he follows me - my steps brisk taking me to my destination, work. He stands in the lower lobby of the building in the opposite corner the farthest from where we enter the building. There is a heater there and he still clutches his bag. I wonder what he holds so close. What earthly possession can one hold onto with such care and protection? If it were me, it would be words. Words you say and ask yourself as you read this blog? I fear they would escape me and be found, judged or ridiculed and worse that all the the aforementioned , Lost. This is why I take on this scary task of sharing my words with whoever chooses to read. My words may seem meaningless but are important as the observations I am consciously taking. What a beautiful journey - what am I creating? I cannot wait to see so I can share it with you.
She speaks and has a casual yet rapt audience. The young girl with dulled blue eyes watches the dialogue among the three without hearing or maybe she does. There is music or story in her ears. I notice her hands, she has a writers callous on the first knuckle of her middle finger is she a student? I also notice that her hands are not what you would expect when you look at her. Her fingers are narrow, almost delicate but not.
Again, to be continued.....(I wonder if anyone realizes that I am just a casual observer of this thing called life and how suddenly I rummage for my pad and pen or just flipping my phone open and appear to be texting when I am actually typing what I see).
She signs, No!, and like a willful child her passenger climbs out of the car intent on being the hero tries to get the car out of the snow bank with no success. Sits back in the car and dials her cell phone.
Penciled eyebrows and embroidered jeans thinning hair pulled back, not to harsh, mid 50ish, skin just beginning to show signs of her youth escaping her watching curiously another passenger.
He gets on the bus every morning clutching to his chest a backpack. He holds it so tight as if it contains all of his most valuable worldly possessions. Slides his bus pass and walks to the back of the bus - always the back. I wonder does he observe as I do. We exit at the same stop, he follows me - my steps brisk taking me to my destination, work. He stands in the lower lobby of the building in the opposite corner the farthest from where we enter the building. There is a heater there and he still clutches his bag. I wonder what he holds so close. What earthly possession can one hold onto with such care and protection? If it were me, it would be words. Words you say and ask yourself as you read this blog? I fear they would escape me and be found, judged or ridiculed and worse that all the the aforementioned , Lost. This is why I take on this scary task of sharing my words with whoever chooses to read. My words may seem meaningless but are important as the observations I am consciously taking. What a beautiful journey - what am I creating? I cannot wait to see so I can share it with you.
She speaks and has a casual yet rapt audience. The young girl with dulled blue eyes watches the dialogue among the three without hearing or maybe she does. There is music or story in her ears. I notice her hands, she has a writers callous on the first knuckle of her middle finger is she a student? I also notice that her hands are not what you would expect when you look at her. Her fingers are narrow, almost delicate but not.
Again, to be continued.....(I wonder if anyone realizes that I am just a casual observer of this thing called life and how suddenly I rummage for my pad and pen or just flipping my phone open and appear to be texting when I am actually typing what I see).
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Longing for my favorite season - unedited
Moon~waves of clouds floating, amber circles the white light. The taste of autumn , senses awakened. The breeze in my face, the rustling of the leaves, the brilliant explosion of color against the sky of the rising moon splashed across the horizon, finger paints texture feel the leaves crumple under my touch taste their smell. Watch touch taste their smell. The color fades and flies only for a season and a sea of green and yellow will be reborn but for now my favorite time is here in my mind. It swims in this season of sensual overload. The breeze causes the leaves to dance a little louder than any other season; it causes the scent of the tilled earth to float through the air - remnant's of the harvest returned to the earth to where it all sprang from. I smile at the beauty of it all, how memory serves my desires. I can still feel the colors: yellow, still soft and with life, red to orange, a little more course but fragrant until they lose their life and crumble returning again. It is warm, the sky is awash with stars reflecting like moonlight in an ocean gently pushed by the autumn breeze. Can you feel this too? Can you see it? Do you look up at the sky and wonder in the amazement of a child even though your childhood is well behind you. What if you could reach up and touch those stars, gently stirring and watch them whirl like the clouds float though the day unguided. Innocence, purity, unedited, unscripted, free flowing. What do you see, where does your imagination take you, what do you feel. Whole, alive, refreshed, truth if truth can be felt - beautiful.
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