the unexpected but gladly accepted injection of love into the everyday junction…

the unexpected but gladly accepted injection of love into the everyday junction…

(stream of consciousness type post, I generally call it free form, call it what you will.. just call it!)

the injection of love
(no, not some bad romcom or adult movie)
reminders, life flicking your ear lobe so you pay attention, a moment, as the feeling wells up you are reminded of other times, those eyes, I forgot her eyes, of course that is all you see these days with mask mandates and the like, the old saying, gateway to the soul and all that, overacted, but like many things scooped from some basin of truth, with some people you just have a gaze, there is something more there, an instant lock, indeed, almost a ghost-physical embrace, at some level, you feel it, you know the other person does as well, you can just tell, by the feeling in your bones, or wherever this emanated from, but there is no denying the fact, the attraction, the familiarity, the instant comfort yet butterfly fragility, we see so many eyes over so many days, a glaze, a haze, a zombie trance as we walk through, enough that the fog becomes the norm, partial blindness to the remarkable form, and then, every now and again, we encounter someone who orbits our star, becomes our moon, even if for a moment lost too soon, that instant bond, love at first sight at some level I suppose, or just a knowing, a simpatico, a fellow traveler in this world with some strange unspoken bond, yes, I forgot her eyes, not the color – but the light, all the time spent floods back in an instant, her laugh, her smile, how she destroys all my ramparts instantly, I used to be so oblivious to all this, and maybe now, as I grow longer in years, I appreciate these awakenings of time, and there is a boost in my step, a pep in my smile, an inner warmth that I can recall like a memory translated into injected elation, an elevation of the spirit just because of her presence, of course this reminds me to be both jealous and happy for those who have found their true love, and have nurtured the same into an enduring relationship, I can only imagine, or dream, or reach but I know this fate exists for me in these moments, even if I trip over the realization or miss the signs, perhaps my mind is best set looking, or perhaps my heart should lead the line.

notes… couldn’t help myself here, Hall and Oates were a staple in my household growing up, so I hated them naturally, but in retrospect they really were better than the average pop band of the day, catchy tunes and Daryl Hall is a good dude who hosts all sorts of musicians these days at his website/venue… check it out.

a taste of spring…

a taste of spring…

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

(stream of consciousness posted prompted by a spike to 70 degrees today)

a taste of spring, a little bird on a twig, a series of chirps evolves into song, the sun, not quit strong enough to completely thaw, nor to make my face have the brooding fear of a tan, but a blue sky and a bright sun can lighten the disposition of gravity, still snow survives, around the edges, under the hedges, melting tides reveal masks strewn about in the gutters, a grim reminder of the times we are emerging from, less a tunnel and more a moratorium, a pause, a break in the norm, all holidays vanished along with those lost, a year seems gone, lost, like this never happened, but I do sense this, a taste of spring, seventy degrees seems like the last mile marker on the road to a vacation destination, a little finch, just inches above me, I swear he is dancing a jig, or at least bouncing around, and the snow’s retreat, even the dull green of the lawn is a treat, a feast for the eyes, lonely stark dirtied snow has a toll, like walls, the glow of the setting sun, behind the everyday house across the street, somehow looks more regal, so I will soak this in for now, into my skin, trigger memories of better days, of hope, of waves gently rolling over my toes as a I stroll down my favorite sandy venue soon enough, I have not come out of this time as whole as I once was, but I still am, so hope is resolve, in this – a taste of spring.

thoughts… from the porch.

thoughts… from the porch.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

hello my old friend, been awhile since we spent some time…
the relentless tide of cold has relented, and the world seems to be stirring from her slumber, some number of months now since I sat here, for this simple pleasure, inhaling and sampling the entirety of my immediate native surroundings, to sit and unpack my thoughts, a bird burst from a box, here I am again, alone, outside, starry night, full moon bright stained with a wisp of haze, a furrowed cloud line struck at a twenty degree angle beneath the face from right to left, as if to add an underline to the moon itself, “what a silly thing to do” I quip to myself, in a voice only I have ever heard, yes though, sound has slowly found a way back in to this since empty hall, as the blanket of snow retreats, lawns revealed peeking groggy gates, “ten more minutes mom”, “well, you have ’til march” (which is coming soon, certainly the next number to come up at the deli counter for order), what a strange year this has been, could I have prophesied such an entangled ride? no, for surely not, but here we are, on the promising precipice of another spring, as my family still mourns the king, and there is no natural ascension to the throne known, no writ of delegation, time will take care of that coronation, I suppose, so I wait, I have learned to have more patience these days but time still seems to roll over at break-neck pace, I can feel the itch and twitch of the hand moving, listening closely I can hear the gears turning in ever-forward motion, there is no pause, no rest, save that- one, there is no pause, just little valleys like these moments, like these when I sit among the trees pretending to be, waiting for them to bloom again, to show me the way, as ever seasons to better days – ahead. and this brings the calms of psalms, to the house of my residing soul.

Bolero… an inspired post…

Bolero… an inspired post…

Photo by Mat Kedzia on Pexels.com

(stream of consciousness freeform post, me sitting in my office with music and then… this.)

as bolero plays I am inextricably drawn, no, transported to a transformation, into the dawn of seasons, to spring, to observe the saplings, the probing buds, all the green things, the rise of life from fallow-dead-white fields, months shallow now filled eyes out to the horizon brim, plum blossoms sun-bursting in celestial parades, off carried by a gentle hand – a tender breeze, seed stars dance like human figurines, in this glorious ballroom of renewal, yes, bolero, more so than vivaldi’s reckoning, I do not know why, but that reminds me of spring in full swing, not this, not the uprising whistling just past the thaw, the burgeoning tide of dawn, where bird’s chatter is that much more amplified – melody, more – harmony, epiphany, the perfect score for the painted landscape being re-born, yes, bolero, tickles my ear, punches the ticket when I am on board, elucidates a dreaming dream to sweep away the doldrums of this daily day, for I see snow, and the icy remains, but no, bolero has brought me the inspired warmth of spring – if only for a moment as graces my auditorium.

thoughts… from the porch. ” ” ” “

thoughts… from the porch. ” ” ” “

Photo by Raychel Sanner on Pexels.com

the howling winds
yes, the cliché, like a freight train, but I must say, whoever coined that phrase, was quite correct, I saw the line coming in on radar, somewhere over Dingman’s Ferry just an hour ago, now, as predicted quite sitting, over my homestead, I sat out for a bit, enjoying the sheer raw power wind, found a spot not quite so wet to take it all in, seeing my newly planted bamboo bent and flailing about surely gave me pause, but things and trees have to learn after-all, I did however batten down whatever hatches I could, the reports of 60 miles per hour received and understood – and felt, what few leaves survived the autumn culling will surely not survive the night, and thirties temp in the forecast later certainly have snuffed out any oxygen left in hopeful lungs of summer, or spring, or whenever this began, the holidays and days that never were, the stalking virus seemingly an eraser of time (where did easter, 4th of july or halloween go?), things changed in a blink, kind of standardized but never slowed down, for children I suppose it might be worse, a stolen summer, a time in life never to be realized, how important things like 9th grade or 8th grade seemed, a prom missed, and there were, no second chances there, children have such strict avenues until they are out in the world embarking in their own canoes down that river… the roaring continues, but now rain has come to play, no place safe, well, no place dry to stay, save indoors, so I retreat, still, I open my window just enough, to invite a piece of the tempest thus, the TV is out, all the better, I have power, tough life I have no doubt, I can only imagine the spectacle such a whip coming through caused in a frontier house of old, wind finding every little crevice and racing through infiltrating, gas lit lamps flickering, threatening to go out and bring the dark veil, huddled in a patchwork waiting for the wind to die down, I romanticize this scene, only because secretly I know my modern convenience provides me the protection to watch the beast thrash about like I am watching some show, the sound though, the sound, my eyes deceive me as I watch a car drive down the street with no sound, I am sure the sound is in there, somewhere, in the blender, but damn if I can make it out, all there is, is nature’s voice, a roar, a throaty steady bellow racing through the leaves fallen at varying pace, stalks touching toes, why does this enthrall me so? maybe I am jealous, I can not conjure such magnificence, I only get to be a witness, but such things are better than not being here at all.

the first of frost*.*.*.

the first of frost*.*.*.

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so last night was not a dream (damn), this morning the wet sheen from the previous was quite white, well, opaque maybe, the lawn glossed over with a uniform one coat of ice, for once the lawn is one color, not a patchwork of the various greens of invasive grasses mated with the varieties I actually planted over these odd years, the uniformity and reflectivity of light is a sight to hold onto, if I didn’t have to get to work that is, so I soak in what I can for a minute, and hop in my car, that same loveliness adorning my lawn you ask? well, not so lovely anymore hanging on the windows of the car, damn I didn’t think of using the remote start thing on my phone, mantra: you don’t have a tube TV anymore, you don’t have a tube TV anymore, maybe that dates me… you don’t have a 56k modem anymore, you don’t have a 56k modem anymore, say it with me now folks, anyway, you get the gist, so, I flip on the heated seat (if you have the means, I highly recommend them), and the defroster, could life be any easier? I do find some amazement that time bends in these situations, I mean, not actually, but our perception might like a geller spoon, or is it the mind that bends, et tu neo? how easily my perfectly laid plans are thrown askew by a bit of frozen dew, inch by inch up from the bottom of the windshield retreating like ice sheets after an ice age, majestic too some, less majestic in this form, but much the same process, sans the boulders dragging out lake beds and the like, every inch is an eternity, I flick my wipers to hasten the process, why does the back window defrost so damn fast? I suppose I could drive backwards to work, maybe if I was a movie star, but I’m not (yet…), my stress is amp-ing up a touch (or two), I must admit, I hate being late even when it is of no consequence, this resides, in my wiring, in the code, the programming base, and then I chance look out to my right, my bum all warm and cozy now, look out the passenger window, and see that beautiful blanket on my lawn, stretching like a treaty across all my neighbors as well, and calm, I feel calm.

in defense of pigeons…

in defense of pigeons…

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along the morning commute, I usually see them lined up by the dozens, in their usual spot, erm… row, actually, on a line that crosses above a particular side road I use to get to the ole turnpike, but this morning, they were on a lawn feasting, a bit early for thanksgiving I thought, apparently someone laid out some feed and the pigeons were doing what any upstanding pigeon citizen would be doing with such a bountiful opportunity, then there is me, in all my armor complexity, wrapped neatly in this breathing metal skinned beast, a cocoon of technology separating me at almost every instance from simplicity, I wondered, wandered, for a moment… -to be a pigeon, the pure simplicity of the thing, just being, unaware of things that do not matter, like who won the bachelor, I wonder if pigeon’s have real house wives? I suppose not, no town names, street names, house numbers, interstate monikers, none of it, all falls away, would I be happy this way, a mental exercise with no destination as I surely can not make that determination reality, but I can dream, or retrograde I think, how would I begin? strip? strip down from this onion, mantle to core? or more, start from the ground up, scratch, I’m not sure, but I must admit, I felt a moment of calm contemplating the whole scenario as it whizzed through my mind like a bullet train, the simplicity is alluring, but how much do I really know, maybe I should park, stick my beak on the ground and give it a go, I might find there are more complexities to this quick puddle toe, nothing is ever as it seems on first glance, but I do wonder sometimes and try to mold some of that into my own experience, essence, being or what have you, for I did have that moment, nature punting a lesson in my direction, sometimes you just need to stop and listen.

autumn drive by 7/5/7

autumn drive by 7/5/7

wildflowers stand in the rain
colors are striking
autumn, before leaves are none

notes: alternate haiku form here… came to me driving around today, yes, there are literal wildflower fields on the sides of the highways here these days (see : this), I saw a patch, and these words popped into my head as is (a splash of color on a dreary wind driven rain day), I have often just wanted to pull over, pull a selfie diving into such fields… but they never come out as you think they should, the hills are not alive with the sound of music, just people laughing at my epic fails falling into such scenery… so maybe I revealed too much…