Those boxed rectangles with bland colors offer some differentiation but that’s not enough. The white is what’s important not what steps on it to stand out.
Unless those squares let white show through, there’s nothing they can do except to blandly block the view.
But then I heard and understood. It’s not those ghostly squares. They’re the victims. It’s that deathly white itself, the very stuff I thought was pure. I almost didn’t see it. Now I do, burying, as if it could, the light that would shine through.
Birds will nest in time for spring
Water flows and falls
The 40 degree weather didn’t stop locals and non-locals, all of us indigenous to this planet, from running, or cheering on the runners, in the Chicago Marathon.
Admittedly there is something odd about 45 thousand members of an indigenous species voluntarily running 26.2 miles and even keeping track – to the second – of records such as the 2:14.04 top time set by Kenyan’s Brigid Kosgei for women runners. I can imagine aliens from another planet, ready to invade, having second thoughts because of that, but if these marathons help keep out those non-indigenous species I’m all in favor of them.
The photo I took was from the very last mile at the very end of the race going up Michigan Avenue. The top winners had finished hours ago. If I were a runner and I got that far, which is questionable, that’s where I’d be. About midway under the Chinatown arch what made me smile was a sign that read, “Hurry up and finish, your mom’s freezing out here”.
Run past Chinatown in windy Chicago weather back home to Grant Park
When I can’t get off my butt, there’s nothing like a kick to do the trick.
I’m beginning to value pain. To reinforce that value I think of it as the whispering of angels calling me to pay attention. Of course, I could just as well think of it as a kick in the butt, but this is supposed to be a poem, and there is more to reality than meets the eye.
This is also supposed to be about spring, but all I hear about is winter. So. More snow? Or is it time for winter to get off its butt and go?
PAST WINTRY PAIN COMES SPRING-BOLD RAIN WE START AGAIN
This January I hoped to see a tiny crescent Moon in the morning just before sunrise. I think such a Moon is upside down, but maybe it is right-side up as well. Regardless, the mornings this January when the opportunity arose were cloudy. The expected sliver of Moon did not appear.
While waiting to see if the clouds would clear I recalled an old couple. Toward the end of their lives they behaved like teenagers in love. They held each other close even in public. They smiled warmly at each other. They seemed upside down to some of us although we all wished we would have their right-side up love when we were their ages.
For many of us clouds get in the way modestly blocking reality. I’ve learned this January that all that is perhaps the way it is supposed to be. Clouds in morning sunlight also put on beautiful shows. Besides, it is easy to forgive all that cloudiness when I realize they also wanted a happy ending.
THERE'S VENUS, CLOUDS, AND JUPITER. IT’S WINTER, BUT OCEAN WAVES ARE WARM.
I’ve been to Gillson Park many times. It is on Lake Michigan and there is plenty of parking. It is a little far for me to bicycle, but it would not be impossible. What’s impossible is not what’s important. What’s important is that there is a park here at all and there is a beautiful lake that waits on it like a servant.
There's a haiku here somewhere waiting for me to try to find it.
Memory is a circle of love that’s not always pleasant. It allows us to experience the present so we can take action moving toward the open future. It offers a passionate place to stand. The present unties the circle giving us the opportunity to spiral that remembered past into a new direction while memory weaves it all back into another circle.
That probably makes no sense.
The painful changes I have experienced through my life have been to watch parents, and others, get sick, emotionally and physically, understanding and misunderstanding these things as caused by environmental, agricultural, medical or dietary mistakes I once thought of as progress. It’s not that it was all wrong. It just needed some kind of correction that didn’t make sense to me earlier. As we let the circle untie and spiral forward there is no reason not to trust that we will do our best to add what we can to make it, in spite of everything, more beautiful.
That probably also makes no sense, but it does to me, until it doesn’t, but that’s when I can look forward to the heartbeat opening the future once again.
HAPPY PUMPKIN ORANGE
AUTUMN CHANGES MAPLE RED
SPIRALS ROUND AND ROUND
Linked to K’lee and Dale’s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the theme circles. I am also linking to dVerse Haibun Monday where Merril D. Smith is hosting with the theme changes or transitions.
Photos: “Pumpkin Circles”, above, and “Pumpkin Spheres”, below.
On a morning walk I am like a bee in search of nectar knowing this richness hides behind color, knowing it could be anywhere and then seeing it, there, right there, in one flower with yellow petals and drops of dew. I put the phone close to it and take a picture trying to see the drops of dew on the leaves but who knows what the photo will show? It isn’t me looking anymore.
Or there it is, in that one tree, in the distance blessed with morning sunbeams, surrounded by the branches and trunk of a nearby tree and below by a soccer field, standing out as one among many trees right now. Even the mistiness of this morning singles this one tree out hiding all those in the background. Just one tree, right now, over there, and why do my eyes find it so beautiful?
YELLOW BLOOMS ATTRACT
LIKE GREEN THIS MISTY MORNING
SUMMER SAYS GOODBYE
My first job was in data processing. The night shift gave me the day to enjoy the city. I mounted magnetic tape onto drives as tall I was. It was a job that begged to be automated. That was long ago. Like Sisyphus, I can still see myself mounting those tapes only to take them down again.
My walk to work led past the Art Institute. I spent an hour each afternoon wandering through the exhibits. I can still see some of them.
One of the benefits of membership, at least in those days, long ago, in what I would even call the mysterious dark ages of my life, was the free coffee that the Institute offered in the afternoon. I became a regular around four in the afternoon with a dozen retirees who were always there and a few strangers who might wander in some afternoon and whom we would never see again. I can still taste that coffee.
Through daydreams blow the breeze of memory. When shadows break I look and sometimes see.
A tarot card reader told me I could predict the future, but I did not take advantage of my skill. She herself got many things right about me, or rather she got the details wrong, if one wanted to be technical about it, but the end results were all right on target, better than I expected.
That was long ago. It was the only time I ever had a reading done. I thought at the time I was skeptical enough, but I realize now that I believed every word she said. Today I am more skeptical of doctors tempting me with drugs than I am of tarot readers pushing what? Best wishes? Some good advice on what to be cautious about?
I looked for her when opportunity brought me back to that area to thank her and tell her that she was right about everything of value. I didn’t expect she would still be there, but I checked anyway. Her dark shop in the hotel lobby was replaced by a well-lit trinket merchant. No one knew what happened to her. So, instead of expressing my gratitude, I had to be satisfied with seeing a beautiful future for her through all the storms that might come to charm her life. It was basically the same future she predicted for me.
WHAT WILL COME OF US?
FLOWERS AREN’T REQUIRED TO ASK.
BLOOM, RECEIVE AND GIVE.