Coffee Shop Life
Sometimes I crave that coffee shop life I used to lead, the erratic schedule, the strangers and friends coming and going, the smell of new books and old, drowned beans, the folk singers, chess players, immigrants, gossip gatherers and solo studiers, the painters, sculptors, writers, anxious students and relaxed retirees. I used to make a…
Ghost Moon and I Staring in Awe at the Changing Leaves
Ghost moon hangs suspended, translucent in the autumn sky, content as we–mortal, fading, too– to rest, breathless, watching the trees array themselves in the mantle of brilliance only allotted them for this brief season.
I wanted to write something beautiful, So I looked around And tried to capture the splendor Of the sun, the essence of a spring blossom, The cadence of a robin, The nature of a cloud– But perhaps beauty cannot be caught, Or perhaps I don’t have the skill. Perhaps beauty lies only in the brevity…
Sitting Among the Falling Leaves
The trees did sway In the breeze this way And that. And the leaves Did drop to the ground, Fall all around where I sat– The green and the brown, The red, orange and gold, They plummeted down– Like birds, so bold!– One landed on top of my hat.
And Love, when we are old and have lost the elasticity and supple flexibility of our youth, let us remain thus: stiffened bodies and steadfast souls yet entwined, wrapped up in one another still, holding tight to that which nurtured and sustained us, clinging to our love and the enthusiasm that first propelled us.
Between the Lines
The lines that inform our existences–that circumscribe, describe the borders between our reality and unreality, our understanding of the world we walk in–are faint, blurry, ephemeral. What do we know of the space between certainty and uncertainty, knowing and doubting, acceptable and unacceptable, trusting and questioning? Dividing each binary is an inconstant boundary, wavering, traveling…
The Delight of the Bumblebees
One evening while wandering I came upon dozens of insouciant bumblebees recumbent in their Elysium, each holding to a pink-and-white flower, drunkenly sipping the dregs of its nectar, heedless of passersby. Each stem supported one bee and it was as if they dined there, each solitary despite their companions, so lost in their own ecstasy…