I suppose I could tell you of the clouds, perfectly farmed rows of smoke pillows, so arranged you would swear they were arranged, and not randomness hiding in plain sight symmetric lines, one large one quite looks like a dirigible, passenger car and all, I pause to listen to the birds, only shadow figures now, I only know them by their words, this is slowly becoming my favorite time of night, past the hoopla, sans the fanfare, the sun has long set sail for tomorrow, or at least is quite out of this view, like a concert where the band has exited stage left, and here I am soaking in the afterglow, as if all the good feelings have mellowed and settled in, ready to rest to slumber with a day behind them, a couple walks across the street, I have seen them before, they live not too far, I see them almost every day, but yet, they might as well be the person next to me in my car, in random morning traffic, ‘was this always like this?’ I think to myself or is the past the ever gilded pony of times passed glory, like a monument marking a time but not actual circumstance of moment, a couple walking, distinct because their little one likes to run up and down the street with heavy feet for such a small frame, as if he is hitting puddles in the sidewalk concrete, all these stories walking up and down and around, sometimes colliding and making new chapters, sometimes never even seeing the cover properly, or even the insert to see the summary to see if there is interest, but I shouldn’t dwell, I feel myself melting into the landscape, human sounds and all, a train in the distance is chugging along, train, seems like such an ancient word, almost noble, my mind conjures the smoke and steam breathing machines from turns of past, not a sad lumbering parade of abused cargo containers, such that it is, but in some strange wonderful way, hypnotic, a dim earthly hum with thumps, primitive ambient grooves, there is a palpable feel to the sound, like a mechanical heart, cathartic, in the repetition, I wonder if any passer bys wonder about this guy, sitting there (here), contemplating them, or am I just another piece of the landscape, unmoving, a citizen of the background, maybe, maybe too often.

notes… this is my continuing series, just sitting outside and riffing, whatever comes to mind, hopefully coherent… hopefully… I was in a calm, after transplanting some new bamboo plants, I am up to 8 varieties now, is that weird ? beats collecting stamps in my mind and there is something calming about gardening, at least for me, maybe it is getting my hands dirty, literally feeling the earth, seeing my brood grow in fits and spurts, they all survived the winter… barely, maybe I will start a bamboo blog, and have even less views, lol or with my luck that will be the new niche of the new century… ah, maybe I will just keep being me, seems ok for now…