Month: August 2017

Back in my city, and summer hasn’t yet come. Thick fog wraps the structures in mystery and one can only guess at their complete forms.

Today, my mind and my heart are 500 miles away, contained in a small room with an obscured window, impatient for the sun, unclear on what crime led to this place.

A lifetime of thoughtful planning, of kindly putting others always first, of careful nutrition and exercise, of carrying out actions in methodical order, failed to make arrangements for a shift in reality that others could not follow and could not abide.

Neuro-biological illness, whether transitory or chronic, is difficulty to accommodate, and impossible to plan for.

The insidious nature of such diseases, that they hide themselves so well from hosts, while showing abundantly to complete strangers, makes them all the more tragic.

I’m used to rushing, but unused to schedules, and the pack shifts heavily on my back as my knees pound into the concrete, legs moving mechanically.

I don’t wear eye makeup anymore, it’s an invitation to the tears that always hover just beyond the edges of my bones.

She doesn’t want me to give up my life, doesn’t want me there. “It’s not worth it,” she tells me on our last good day, “go home.”

And another piece of my heart breaks off because I don’t know what will become of her. I am all she has, but she cannot be alone, and we both know it.

“We all walk alone,” she says as she closes her eyes

My legs move faster, I must be on that train, so I jump as the conductor shouts, “All aboard!”

#mymorningwalk

Dew drop diamonds decorate

The path to the pool

Always the water bearer, at this late age,

soft support, the cradle of the womb, envelopes me, and I swim,

Honoring my first body

The legs that stood for me,

The voice that spoke when I had none,

The heart that set the rhythm for my life

Feeling nothing save the gentle touch of cool water,

Sinking to the bottom,

The beat of one heart fills my ears

Rising, water gives way to sky, eyes fill with clouds, arms move, strong and sure, and I fly.

What did you see?

#mymorningwalk

Windows with bars, blinds and boards.

Carton, sans eggs; bottles, sans beer; tea bag, sans cup.

Rails that disappear into the future, and still I ride.

The gnarled, troll toes of the lollipop tree grip the dark and fecund ground, while the branches tickle the cotton candy clouds.

Further on the path, branches, once green and fertile, stripped bare, dipped silver and gold,

A barren, dead and counterfeit fortune,

Affecting the appearance of wealth,

Entice the shallow minded.

A man mopping a marble entry

on his hands and knees sings in Italian,

and the train whistle blows.

Outside the 5th floor window of a building, there is a man wearing safety orange from head to toe, standing in the orange cage of an orange cherry picker pressing a ribbon of green tape against the glass.

A boy wearing a Lego backpack walks underneath.

A man loading a stove into a truck looks up at me with surprise and a happy smile, “I like your hair,” he says as he touches his own conventionally brown cut.

I smile and thank him sincerely.

Further on, a woman in a dark blue coat with white polka dots and purple pants takes pregnant steps forward with her eyes closed.

Another man sitting on a low wall, toothless, flowing white hair and beard with clean pressed clothes, also likes my hair, and I thank him.

Near the train, I pass a friend. He works where I live. His head is down, his face a study of concentration, he does not see me at all.

What did you see?

#mymorningwalk

It’s raining, and I walk on water.

A white microwave,

Unplugged with its door ajar,

Is blocking my path

I walk on water

A woman clings to the stem of her orange and pink umbrella, turned up like a tulip in the rain.

I walk on water

An old and grizzled man, dressed with dignity, head down and walking with care, holding a small ukulele with a golden rose intwined in its strings like a crucifix in front of his chest.

I walk on water

A young man, carries a small dog, its paw wrapped in a pink bandage, under his arm like a loaf of bread. His other arm cradles a skateboard.

I walk on water

My path takes me through the flower market, where the Venus fly traps show their teeth and it smells of bacon.

A Chinese woman greets me with a warm smile of recognition.

I walk on air.

What did you see?

#mymorningwalk

I do not walk, I meander. A luxury not typically part of my morning routine.

The sky is blue and the air cool, but welcoming. My path is filled with choices, large and small. At most of the crossroads I reach, it matters not at all which choice I make, as long as I maintain my general direction in pursuit of my ultimate destination

But even the inconsequential, mundane choice makes all the difference in what I see, feel and experience on the journey.

One way has more art, another more people. This direction is more rugged, that way, a short cut.

Each day, each choice, has opportunities lost and found. Adventure may always be just around the corner.

A found note that escaped the bin catches my interest, and I rescue it from the street.

I’ll read it later.

What did you see?

#mymorningwalk

The movement in the blanket drew my eye, and the pattern printed on the thin flannel swaddling the legs curled into the doorway of the bar, thwarted my best attempts at discernment.

Another brief moment, and the familiar face of a man I often passed on the street, grey dreadlocked hair, covered in a layer of dirt and grime, rolled into the sunlight.

He stood, wobbled, nearly fell, but caught himself with surprising agility and stood blinking in the brilliant new morning.

The light changed and I crossed the street, turning my back to him as I always do.

What did you see?

#mymorningwalk

Some days, the sparkle and magic of Oz is masked beneath the grey skies of Kansas. Today is one of those days.

The air is heavy, the streets are empty, everything feels the same color, fabric and temperature.

It’s not unpleasant, it’s just not remarkable… and yet…

The Jehova’s Witnesses, in their heels, jackets and ties, unpack their pamphlets and stand certain that today is the day they’ll find one of the 144,000 souls to save. But where will that leave them?

A man sleeps soundly on a bench, his suitcase is his pillow, and he snores.

Everything is muted, even the Conductor. His usual cheery greeting is lower key, but as we pull out, he announces that, “Today is a good day,” and reminds the riders who brought pastries on board that, “Sharing is caring.”

Golden light peeks through the grey and we move forward, while looking back, toward the day.

What did you see?

<a href=http://practical muse.net>#mymorningwalk</a>