thoughts, from the porch…

thoughts, from the porch…

(note to any new readers: this particular series is all stream of consciousness that I write off the cuff in one take, so take it as thus)

Photo by Tomas Anunziata on Pexels.com

‘raking’
sometimes the old way of doing something is therapeutic, or am I being the old man where balls disappear because the kids are afraid to go near his yard, is that even a thing anymore? kids can explore whole alien worlds without leaving their room, has the simple joy of a bat and a ball been lost or diminished? not a moral judgement, it is a silly thing to try and drag the past into the now, things change, some for better, some for worse, some for we have no clue, but raking- something so ancient, well, as old as we are on this truly aged world that is, there is something about raking leaves, the rustle, the sweetly slight decay scent in the air from the bottom layers as you peel them away, thrush- thrush- thrush-, like a rolling airy-loose wave into a pile they flush as you go, the subtle vibration of the rake in your hands as it scrapes the scape, in this case, the old thin style, only good for raking things lightly, the head of the thing has seen better days, held in place by crooked bent nails, but this base technology still works fine, a stick with some tines, and there is satisfaction in the chore, there is just enough chill in the air to block any sweat from forming, there is just enough sun to warrant short sleeves and feel the waning warmth on your skin for at least one more day, a leaf blower is just not as satisfying (even if gratifying and practical), plus, they are loud whining machines of arcing crescendos, even the electric ones, maybe it is because I am raking on a sunday, the off day, I want to hear and feel the very pulse of fall not some infernal machine… rake… let the memories seep in, huge piles of leaves to dive in and feel the crinkle… thrush- thrush- thrush-, the satisfaction of building up a huge bunch, gazing up @ the trees to estimate the next delivery, fall is generally very quiet, except the squirrels, they are too easy to track racing through the downed leaves, most birds have gone south already, so here I am, just table setting for the coming winter, cleaning up the lost purveyors of shade, for their job is done now, I’m sure parts of me will ache tomorrow, but in a good way, in a good fashion, doing things the old way, connection to the simple, to the past, and there is satisfaction there, in something like this, raking
.

thoughts from the porch…

thoughts from the porch…

building metal house architecture
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escaping the indoor sounds

for I am not truly escaping all human sounds, there is the occasional car, or neighbor walking their dog yammering on their phone, but much better than the din within the walls, of TVs with sports, a washing machine sanitizing dishes already clean, a dryer tumbling more coins than clothes, a phone ringing out loud with scams, for some reason, just tonight, an avalanche fell on the roadside of my mind, it all just became too much, too loud, maybe salvation resides in the mundane, taking out the sunday night garbage to the curb for pickup, a ritual that keeps you in line in your time frame prescribed, that even keel, how after days and nights of pouring 90s, how 70 degrees feels, so slight, the night crickets are not as loud as on those humid horrors, the swarming mosquito lions of this savanna are not as blood-thirsty, they even ask for reservations to dine, or so I imagine their disposition, there is a steady silent breeze, everything, everything is in motion, but calm, subtle undulation, as if receiving a gentle neck massage from ethereal unseen fingers, this is one of those moments I wish I could wrap up and hide, save for a more dire time, is this perfection? surely not, but much closer in that direction than the bulk of my days so far…
this scene, a trigger, to make me breathe in deeper to capacity and past, to smell and taste and tap the very essence of now, all the plants seem relaxed in this bath, a return from a desert to a meadow, from far pendulum swing to the middle, I wish I could transfer all humanity into my now, the sweeping deep calm of this moment, like being held afloat by a warm loving ocean without any worry, worldly concerns left at the door behind me, just listening, listening, escaping the indoor sounds, for now.

 

part of my porch series that will continue as long as I do…