The Shadow Knows...

Wet Feet

Ode to the present {fragment}, by Pablo Neruda

This
moment
as smooth
as a board,
and fresh,
this hour,
this day
as clean
as an untouched glass
not a single
spiderweb
from the past:
we touch
the moment
with our fingers,
we cut it
to size,
we direct
its blooming.
It's living,
it's alive:
it brings nothing
from yesterday that can't be redeemed,
nothing from the past.

Police

Rolled through a stop sign this morning-
Got pulled over (right in front of my office).
Was called ma'am twice.
But no ticket-

Monterey Bay

is now the colour of my bathroom. Although-it almost reminds me of a blue highlighter-damn.

This day is mine.

Off to the farmer's market-no obligations, no plans.
nice.

Sunshine

The sun is here.
Now I must remember to enjoy it.

driving to bangor...

in the rain.
send sun soon.

singing

some days, I sing while I wait-
other days, it is so silent
I can hear the wind's every breath.

Friday

Hopeful for a relaxed but productive long weekend-

Laughing Brains

A happy brain is a healthy brain-

vampires suck.

wondering.

why?

and do I really care?

In memory's telephoto lens, far objects are magnified. ~John Updike

I think...

I think too much-

the mind: don't go there alone.

This juxtaposition of callousness and extreme sensitivity seemed suspicious even to me-

~Schlink

Tunnel Vision

My fine line between brillance and madness has been smudged.
I think I'm okay with that-
as long as there are no fingerprints.

Stirring up-

The great sea stirs me
The great sea sets me adrift
It sways me like a weed
on a river stone

The sky's height stirs me
The strong winds blow through my mind
It carries me with it
and moves my soul with joy.

~Song of the Uranuk Woman
Shaman of the Inuit, circa 1920

Today, I am trying to remember to look up without tripping over myself.

There's a hole in the sky Dear Liza, Dear Liza.

The Freak Out

I am not sure the box I have kept you in all these years will be big enough for you now.

Easter Morning: Sunrise

I Died For Beauty

I died for beauty, but was scarce

Adjusted in the tomb,

When one who died for truth was lain

In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?

“For beauty,” I replied.

“And I for truth - the two are one;

We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a-night,

We talked between the rooms,

Until the moss had reached our lips,

And covered up our names.

~Emily Dickinson

Sailing Around My Room

streakin' across the sky-