thoughts from the porch… (rain revelation)

thoughts from the porch… (rain revelation)

close up of silhouette against blue sky
Photo by Lum3n.com on Pexels.com

there is something about that first drop of true spring rain landing upon your bottom lip, strangely, the top lip impact is just not the same, kind of a drop hanging off a rooftop edge, or sliding off an umbrella’s side like a slug, there is something mystical about that one first kiss on the lower lip drop serenaded by the conversations of the spring birds that abound, such an up-swell of renewal that even ponce would be jealous of, this is not even proper rain, more like a hard drizzle, and then the inevitable patter of cloud siblings as they hit your outer wear, that distinct acoustic sound, a singular drum tone you know so well, no tune you can recall but a beat and rhythm you know so, so well, and then to the eyes, you can see the physical drops racing by, more like bolts and lines than drops really, the word ‘drop’ has such a specific look to the conjuration, rarely do you see actual drops of rain if you care to think about it, I desperately want this to be a pure baptism of spring, wash away the winter and all the dire darkness shrouding the world in the now, the subtle reminder, the tap on the shoulder, the realization, this is April, a gateway, there is a corridor and an ending lest we lose view of it at times, there is a spring, be it a metaphor or a tangible fruit to bear and then pick for sustinence forward, be sure, spring is there, pushing ever up against the dam of this damn winter, gathering such weight behind the barrier until winter can only relent and burst, this is the way of things, regardless of our cares, cars, cities, quibbles, arguments, tv shows, sports teams, skyscrapers, all of it, just window dressing against the never ending machine of this small earth confined to the laws of the expanding universe, size and scope is all perspective, and sometimes the little details need to realign your vision or perception, to bring you back to actual reality, the way of the world and as it will be, when the winter is undone as it always will be.

notes… inspiration is a tease, a master, a slave, all these, I am trying my best to bend to the wind in those sails and write everything as it is… to me, that is, if you expect someone else, well, that’s silly, I am just trying to be the me, feeling better these days amongst the forest of deadly disease that has surrounded my whole existence, today was not my day to go, hopefully not soon either, but you never know, I am trying to encapsulate my thoughts here… on this little blog, and I would be remiss, without thanks, to whatever god there is or not, but I would lean towards “is” because why do all this if there is nothing, there could be nothing, yes, there could be, but there could be more, so I would rather plant my flag in that land without colors on that flag, just the flag that says I am here, I was here, I am…

thoughts from the porch… (transport yourself)

thoughts from the porch… (transport yourself)

silhouette of person walking
Photo by Subham Dash on Pexels.com

lose your mind in the last wash of sunshine, this is certainly not a warm night, according to the local weather acolyte a storm is approaching, that certainly explains the wind, sometimes wind has a sinister character, sometimes not, this would be the former, I can not adequately explain in reason that I feel no malice in this wind, maybe I can not tell by the expressions through the trees, for there are certainly gusts and gales, and roars tails spiriting through me and all around, this just feels like wind doing what it was meant to do regardless of my observation or being here, nature’s clock hands ticking, rattling bamboo stalks against the house, rousing the evergreens like fluffing an old comfy couch, there, watching the last bits of amber drain fade into purples dark, branches are still like charcoal sketches now, shadow sticks, mostly hiding nothing, just red hanging buds shaking on the ends like abandoned naked christmas trees, various birds crisscross and pay me no mind, they have their lives as I have mine, a little one lands about twelve fifteen o’clock out front, displayed in the last waves of the day, a framed silhouette in amber, riding the branch as it slides up and down in the wind, such a little compact thing, not bothered at all by the gathering breeze…

dusk evening flowers nature
Photo by Snapwire on Pexels.com

I try to project myself onto that line, calmly, calmly bobbing up and down in tidal drafts, none of these human concerns bound, for there is value to become lost in a destination,  now and again, to separate yourself from the every-thing, the whole-thing, the no-thing, I’ll never truly understand what it is to be that little bird perched on that tree, but perhaps, in some simple cosmic way, we were both admiring the very same things…

notes… part of my porch series, all thoughts, comments and your time in stopping by are all immensely appreciated…

the have knots…

the have knots…

grayscale photo of rope on log
Photo by Bella White on Pexels.com

the have knots…

life as a string, or a yard of rope, rarely a straight unedited line, in fact I might not trust a straight piece, or a new piece might not catch my ear from advice, I would like to think I am of a different stretch – the have knots, bumps in the road, reminders, regrets, mistakes, triumphs, a complicated mess of string, a series of memories tied up with life in between, in some way, they hold this all together, the frayed ends, a matter of design of the human mind and experience, the tangled chance holds the tougher circumstance, without those this would be just a single rope, speeding straight along, and maybe since I have never seen this, or experienced just that, twisted in and under and back around, the journey makes the between linear so profound, and perhaps eventually I will not be able to escape a knot and that will be my undoing, but until then I will prefer, to dwell among you, the have knots…

sea glass… (a metaphor for us, for you, perhaps)

sea glass… (a metaphor for us, for you, perhaps)

frozen wave against sunlight
Photo by Hernan Pauccara on Pexels.com

“sea glass”

might I liken myself to sea glass, at once in the womb, a protected part of the greater whole, ejected out into the world, quite suddenly, my link to all I knew for those nine months, severed, cut, quite literally of course, not that I recall, but I am sure it had to happen that way, I mean, I took sex ed, I am here as well, as far as I can tell, I’m not the first, not the last, not even sure what number on the human bell curve I might grade out at, so here I am, cast, cast out into the vast ocean, rolling around in the surf, sometimes quite calm sitting on the bottom, perhaps buried in silt sleeping time away, tumbling around in the tide, slowly but quite surely the water and action are taking the edge of sharpness from my sides, grains of sand scrape across my eyes, blurring my vision over time, the pace at which these things happen feels like a slow fall, or feels like nothing at all, just perpetual tide working to grind me on down, smooth edges now, all these years down all these roads, paths in sand, driven by an unseen hand, preparing to deposit me on the shore, one day, to see the sun one last time, before I am left to disappear in that desert dune just beyond the tide, becoming just another particle of sand along with those of before and forward those I will never know.

the moment: so there was a fire in the warehouse next to ours, just a fire, lots of commotion, the fire chief actually backed into my car causing about a grand in damage, didn’t say a word at the time, but we have cameras trained on the back lot, in the process of containing the fire one fireman was walking along the building with a metal pike, the purpose? to break all the windows, I wonder how he got that sweet job, the other guys were up on the roof and what not battling the fire, this guy gets to play whack-a-mole with windows, anyway, off that tangent, I was walking past the boarded up mess today, and the glass was still there on the neglected lawn, shimmering in the sunlight, and the above metaphor type thing just populated my brain, so that is the genesis of this little sprite of inspiration…

hey !  all thoughts, aspersions, and comments are always appreciated… as are killer side dishes, seriously, I love to cook, especially with hot hot chilies

spring his here, just ask the birds…

spring his here, just ask the birds…

silhouette of mountain and birds
Photo by Kunal Baroth on Pexels.com

pausing all my human being
I stopped –
to listen this morning
the birds tell me this is spring
and so tell me in their song

notes…  I do not need a calendar, or an app, or other some such thing, for the past three days I just paid attention, the birds are singing paying no mind of the utter panic playing out below them or around them due to a virus that effects us humans, nature has it’s own way, and goes about it the same, we’ll blink and all this will be in our past soon enough, but nature, this is her turf, she moves on regardless.

path of gens. the road to fear.

path of gens. the road to fear.

woman in black long sleeve dress screaming
Photo by Rene Asmussen on Pexels.com

panic is like a little voice standing on the shoulders of worry, shouting, in a tiny voice but in a vast empty room filled with boom and echoes, spreading rumors, and birthing life to innuendos, your rational self whispers rational thoughts in a calming matter, no matter, that other voice shatters even the best firewall, at least in drips and drabs, and sometimes waterfalls, the dyke breaks and floods commence, all the while we hope for the best and know for the best that most of the worst will not commence, but for that certain uncertainty unleashed, growing, multiplying, hard to see or count those masses massing in shadow, panic does not thrive in light, dwelling and swelling in the comforts of night, undermine, underfoot, under your breath the words, take flight, but to where? is there a safe space, somewhere, no, shelter in place, any place, as safe as can be which seems like a threat space now, but how? just days ago things were peach, not a worry in the sky, not a cloud, now this breach, this worry, this agent of chaos raging, throbbing, pulsing beyond control, we will to shut it out but our only option now, wait it out…

The Marvel Marble…

The Marvel Marble…

so behold, that bright marble, a miracle, just another globe in a pantheon of globes in a universe of spinning discs of light, glass encased perfectly situated ball locked in an invisible dance, trance, with a sun and her children spawn, in the outer regions of one tendril of a galaxy’s arm, all racing along a hidden path with purpose, the macro, from afar, a small blue dot winks on the horizon of the heliosphere, and zoomed in closer reveals, an ant colony scrambling about with seeming importance, unaware of perspective, distances so great that they can not be measured nor traveled yet we bustle about, about this marvel of a marble, and from the down here we look out, with our clever inventions and intentions, our human projections, so slight cast out into that great expanse, the art, the gallery of god, strewn across a canvas so massive we will never see the whole cloth, or even the fabric onto which this vision is projected, the strings, imperceptible stitches, the concepts, all tie time together and flow, we can not be alone, for just the ornaments on this holiday tree alone must have some sliver of this gift, this life, so many forms travel on just this little darling of a marvel, this fascinating rolling marble, suspended by magical natural forces, we take them all for granted as they blanket us in wonder, whether designed or natural happenings, the definitions of impossible are quite shattered by our mere presence, there must be more out there, if even we have not seen all the flavors on our own planet, the depths, the dark, the corners un-found or lost for generations, drowned in magma, locked in miles of ice unseen, how much has been before and how much more to come, we are but a footnote in the grand procession, the thrust, the flow, the river of life as branches, arms, reaching in every direction, even to dead ends and new beginnings, life carves through this valley forever changing the landscape as we ballroom dance swing around mother sun, destructive nuclear fire, that yet brings life and desire, our desire, to thrive, inhabit, love, all on this, the blue, marvel marble, floating endlessly in the sky, in space, a womb of the most precious thing of all, life.

“my mind can venture where my body can not”

https://youtu.be/hKFkR9yfRoY

flashbacks, history, memories, reality…

flashbacks, history, memories, reality…

IMG_4811

the ice bucket

I’d almost forgotten you exist, buried back there, you probably have not seen the sun in a decade, the house is quite empty now, quite quiet indeed, no kids feet running rambling, glasses clanging, wine corks thunking, seltzer gurgling, conversations rising sometimes hanging, sports on the TV, pictures of kinders, munching on crackers and platters and dips, how many years has it been, those family get togethers were so common back then, thinking back they feel like a monthly occurrence even though they certainly were not, and certain things were always there to please the crowd, the cloth napkins, certain dishes and certain glassware laid out, the fold up tables from down stairs set up to accommodate the flood of thirty or so relatives, the extra folding metal chairs, stored in the back of the hall closet, black marker marks on the bottoms as to not be confused with the extras brought in, what a fiasco that would be, to lose a chair to a relative you are most certainly to see again, at least for a few more gatherings in that same year, this all seems so distant now, almost blurry, fuzzy, looking down at you my old friend, a companion, a contemporary, a holdover, a memory trigger, from that time ago, your place of prominence on the table, brimming with fresh made ice from the fridge, gleaming silver tongs just under your lid, like a functional centerpiece you did reign, where did this all go, where did everything go, I guess, we all succumb to age, and change, and the accustomed customs wind up out by the curb for pickup, someday, maybe this day, maybe not, you cleverly survived by hiding in the back recess of a cabinet barely touched or ventured in, but for what? a surprise, or just a ticket to a time gone by, people gone by, time that has moved on beyond usefulness, I think I might put you back, at least for a while, and maybe every now and again, might I seek you out, to trigger fond memories of lives and holidays of a by gone day, when I need a smile, to remember not just youth, to remember everyone at that time, as they were with my eyes as I was… like a child running around in a forest of trees to which one day I would grow up to be…

 

erosion.

erosion.

horseshoe bend arizona
Photo by Ian Beckley on Pexels.com

and the river rages, at times calm as a picture perfect glass pond, but always moving, erosion, time, the invisible taskmaster, ever pulling, ever moving, ever forward, the river carves, the wind bares down, edges begin to dull regardless of their noble origin, time bends all wills all walls, the longer you survive the more experience you accumulate, to navigate within this flow, the change happens cosmically in a blink, but for you this is a slow tide rising, a lifetime, you do not notice, or maybe do, rough edges invariably fade, hair runs grey or runs completely, slowly you are rounded out, becoming grains of sand, for you will, but in the midst of all, erosion of the body and the mind, until… until you are just a soul outside of time…

I wait, I pause, close my eyes, I can’t feel it, I think I can picture it… my consciousness glowing pulsing inside the shell.

unwrapped…

unwrapped…

assorted gift boxes on red surface
Photo by Giftpundits.com on Pexels.com

sometimes I do not know why my mind goes to the places it does, ideas and thoughts pop in there like a spinning roulette wheel, no, that’s not a good analogy really, there is always the same numbers, perhaps a roulette wheel with constant changing numbers if you could concoct such a contrivance, that would be more accurate, anyway, I was driving home from work tonight, musing, to music as usual, and this feeling came over me, that feeling, one that has not visited this part of the woods in quite sometime, many years even, just that spark, I remember, that initial burst of joy I felt when opening gifts during holiday times or maybe a birthday, I immerse swim in the memory immediately, not liking just ripping gifts open like a wild savage beast, the wrapping paper had value to me, I always peeled the tape, carefully, like a gift ninja in heat, I guess it fit my particular nature, my beat, I tried to avoid letting the tape from pulling up the wrapping paper to where I would see under the epidermis white, almost as if I was peeling off a band aid from a summer dried knee scrape, not wanting to disturb the underneath, my attention to such details seems so singularly silly now, but that buzz of happiness from knowing the gift was coming, that time was here, to see what the haul had brought, inspecting the packages I could always tell (with great excitement) the ones that were various specific things asked for and granted, how exactly big a nintendo cartridge was, and there was only so many out at the time, the double wait time, first the unwrapping, then counting the moments for the crowd family to disperse so you could play the darn thing, play it until your hands were bloody stumps or your feet fell asleep from the awkward seat on the floor you took, the other stack of gifts, that would sit for a day in the unwrapping place, the sweaters, the socks, one year I got underwear I think, not very festive in retrospective…

shadow depth of field photography of blue box
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com

been awhile since I felt the sensation, I guess I do not like receiving gifts and haven’t for a while now, I prefer giving them but not at the prescribed told time or in the limelight, I like to be spontaneous (when I see something that makes me think of you I buy it) which has caused some consternation among the ‘normal’ folk in my clan, but I persevere, sometimes questioning my modus operandi as a gimmick and not pure, or wondering if there is something wrong with me, moments of self doubt, but I remember those surprise gifts and the reactions, not the awkward looks as I lurk on the periphery of current defined celebrations, I am glad for the memories, the rush, that feeling when I was kid, but I am also awkwardly happy and even sometimes content with the path I have laid, even if comfort in my decisions evades me at times.