I am a spiral, not a braid. I can twirl and curl, spring and stretch.
Numbers bounce. Words sink. Periods stay.
A rhyme can soar while reason stumbles.
Numbers rumble, roll, and tumble.
Words mix and match. The meanings get lost.
Interpreters, translators, and liaisons are at a loss.
There is no script or cipher. All the symbols cry and defy.
We will not stand on the spot, hang on the peg,
Or step in the hole. You cannot order us.
The dreamy days of summer are coming to a close. All the random thoughts that like to cycle through my head will have to take a back burner.
The reality of paid work will be upon me next week. Year round I’m a caregiver to my adult daughter. There is one continuous season to this work, and I am the boss.
Naturally when someone else pays you, they are the boss. And bosses have bosses. Such is the living and working in the real world.
I’m actually looking forward to getting out of my head, and getting involved again with the education of the young people in my community.
This work definitely keeps me grounded, and helps me to sharpen my communication skills with young people.
I have a tendency to think with outdated words. I need to keep updating myself with the language of today.
We all want to hold onto time, and yet, time is a concept with abstract words.
What exactly do we want to hold onto?
A snapshot of our life, a state of being, a permanent situation. A chance to make a difference or a chance to make more money. Staying young becomes a quest.
We all want more time to fill our days and nights with business, pleasure, and even ecstasy. We all compete for more time. We don’t want to believe it is all a ruse.
In the long run all will dim and most will be forgotten. Life is inherently impermanent. As individuals we perish, as a collective group we sustain our species for a little while longer. Life as we know it will eventually end.
The clouds can hold onto time in suspended animation. However, one cannot really live in an animated state.
In the meantime, let’s celebrate the ones we love and give thanks for the passage of time. If time didn’t pass for us we would just be river stones.
The other day when I was down by the river I saw many squirrels scampering around.
There was one little squirrel that was particularly attentive to me. He crawled up very close and hugged the ground. He looked like he was begging me for something.
The only thing I could think to say to him was that I had no peanuts with me. I promised him that next time I come down to the river I would bring him some.
Today, I brought a bag of Hope and Harmony farms Raw in the Shell Peanuts.
My little squirrel friend was nowhere to be seen, and I saw no other squirrels around.
It felt like I was at a different river today, though the river looked the same.
I left several peanuts on the ground in hopes that he would find them after I was gone.
I’ll try to find him another day.
Today’s journey led me to a gravel road. A wrong turn to be exact.
It went on much longer than expected. It reminded me of childhood summers, and my family’s trips to see my father’s parents.
They lived on a farm out in the middle of rural farmland in the state of Missouri. We always pronounced it with an “ah” sound at the end, and not a long “e” sound.
On these trips we had to drive for miles on gravel roads.
When all the family was together my grandfather would pile all of the grandkids (9 of us) in the back of his pick-up truck, and drive over the hills at high enough speed that the back end would lurch up and our stomachs would drop on the way down.
It was a greater thrill than any roller-coaster ride.
In today’s world the child welfare police would probably want my grandfather’s neck.
However, I must say it was a thrill I will always remember.
This photo is of my grandparent’s farmhouse.
The river peacefully saunters on its way. The air is dry and pleasant.
The temperature goes unnoticed. There are no highs or lows, only a middle ground of comfort.
I wonder what secrets the river has washed away or hidden in its depths.
On slow days the sky can see its reflection. And the river calmly hides behind this mask.
Don’t be deceived for the river has plenty of fury it can build upon.
In its fury it has no patience for sky reflections.
Most days it will let the wind caress it, and gentle lines give evidence of the wind’s direction.
Humans gravitate towards the river for it can provide food and a pathway to adventure.
The river is both a giver and a taker.
The stifling heat is keeping me inside.
I’ve only ventured out to feed the fish.
The other day I started to cut the old lilac down.
My husband helped.
The process is ongoing. I’ll finish when the weather turns.
I haven’t decided what all will fill the space.
My hairdresser Azy showed me pictures of peaches on her peach tree.
I now have peach envy.
I still have thoughts of the red witch hazel, Diane.
I don’t plan to plant till fall, and possibly next early spring.
So, I have time on my side to think.
Early evening I’ll venture out again to do a little watering.
Even the pond fountain looks a little defeated.
Images of the slow motion capture of water drops comes into my mind.
This too will pass.
Wind mills, tulips and other flowers can be found in Amsterdam.
It is the capital city of the Kingdom of the Netherlands, also known as Holland.
There once was a Count of Holland named Floris V.
He had many children. Some were out of wedlock. One was named Catherina.
She was not part of any official lineage.
Her spirit still spins around like the wind mills of Amsterdam.
Her wings sail with the revolving blades.
She has no ground to stand upon.
Her lonely shrieks fill the air on a starry night.
Perhaps, Edvard Munch and Vincent van Gogh could hear her cry.
I thought I was a hummingbird.
movingforwardslowly 