on the side of this lake where still waters run deep, and small birds still sing in the trees, we wonder if fish swim unharmed, past the stinking mess, or choke on the rotting tree bark. heaven knows what's best. the mill on the lake is an awful mistake, the lake's not pristeen any more. those fish, you can keep. those won't want to eat, poison beside the foreshore.
a little sunshine lights things up. chairs wait for restless bottoms. not many years have passed since the red paint was fresh and wet. now, it is springtime; nearby the river is at flood; the water's rising. rushing waters carry no message for our ears or eyes. anyways we listen, sitting if possible, listening to silence, ideal for thinking, listening to all the almost-whispers in our quieted minds. the red chairs look good for that easy purpose. sunshine on wet laundry, hung out to dry, ripples on a small river, only hundreds of miles long. red chairs by a river bank. so many beautiful silences in springtime
Bed of Daisies then we should not forget that life can be a bed of daisies. even when it seems that everywhere there are weeds. life can be a bed of daisies. my sick friends concern me every day, but i know well, life can be a bed of daisies. a little pain can teach us what we should not do. life can be a bed of daisies. then we should not forget that life can be a bed of daisies.
Caribbean Dream some day soon i hope to go back to where waves end. or where they start, i can't say which, some days seem a lot better than all the rest. i can't say which i like the best. (a safe and warm place like one where i'd like to go) a place like that? i do not even know. storms will come from secret places we can't guess, at unguessed times we don't suspect. (there is no safe place.) gentle waves are breaking on a shore; it seems so calm, but can be so much more. some day soon i hope to go back to where waves end. or where they start, i can't say which, on that spare thought you can depend.
brilliant yellow blossoms surround a quiet elegant lily, not a drab flower in the bunch! we'll see beauty isn't brightness, when understanding elegance, something lovely with muted tones. so many yellow flowers in a bunch, a little greenery is compulsory, it seems, making a pleasing background to highlight colour . our lives seem comfortable when we drift blandly saving exciting colours and flavours for special events, as if a bouquet of all-yellow blossoms becomes uniform and regular, nothing standing out.
waves smashed on the eastern shore, for years i can't count even in my imagination. as hard as rocks, incessant waves will wear eventually, until such rocks are worn down to sharp black sand. friday today, and the sun is up, over the mountain, shining down on our morning. backlighting spring leaves on a manitoba maple. we dream of days as beautiful, and mark time in minutes, weeks and years. the waves and rocks do not understand or know the time that passes. we can only see a certain scale, all else vanishes. one hundred million years ago, we were nothing, not even yet possible. yet here we are, possible in the present. we can look back, but not go there, at least not yet.
now the sun rides higher in the skies, days get longer and warmer. leaves sprout on bare branches. grass begins to green and grow, flower departments, have summer flowers, as if to show us what to expect. we attended a two-year old's birthday party. ice cream all over his face, loving it! then his first bicycle. legs too short to reach the ground, so his dad had to push the bike. a tired dad stopped pushing, and a young voice chirped "again!" signs of springtime!
near Venice is this island (i'm pleased that we could go) glass masters sell small treasures in busy storefronts. an alert salesman invited us to a hidden gallery. murano's secret wonders, which we loved, and something about our appreciation of these treasures fed something in him, and made him happy. this sidestreet seemed to welcome and i had to stop and look. and i saw nothing that was beautiful, unless i tilted my head a certain way. do as i did, and tilt your head. it was so worth it. just tilt your head.
seen from a different angle, things will not look the same. differences grow on you, they are interesting. you might not recognise the place, though it has been here for hundreds of years, just like this. if we don't learn to see things as if they are fresh, we'll just feel stale, like the world is a boring place. but it isn't a boring place. if we have our eyes open, moving forward, uncertain what that means or where we'll get to. someplace might be famous or infamous, we might never know especially if we don't recognize somebody else's point of view.
Something Bright i think i would not try to eat something so unfamiliar, maybe toxic, maybe lethal, unless i saw something else (preferably someone) eat it first, and walk away unharmed. but don't they look so good? maybe you'd like to try some and maybe i could watch you not die. we could rethink and have a second thought. how would i know what you died from? probably not from milk and cookies. some days, it seems, we have a little too much excitement. if that's not enough, we can make something up.