Morning moon above

perfectly bisected,
nearing her dark days.
“Life is short,” she reminds.
“No time to rush.”

May you find yourself lost

by the sea,

your pointed certainties smoothed, 

silken like driftwood having

finally ~ faithfully ~

surrendered. Salt in the air

and your hair, whispering

wind telling the truth:

sure as tides shift,

you are allowed.

dear life,

thank you

for this curious adventure

outside my window just now

it happened, the golden leaf ~ sweet soft slowly soaring ~ took her time, drifted, let the breeze bring her, blow her in billowing arcs, which might seem like a luxury, but as nature knows and (creative souls) savoring the journey from here to there is not an extravagance, but the only way

Be positive

and participate.

Karma is

action’s echo

after all.

This evening I took the route home that gives me a view of the city skyline.

The sun was setting. The air was cool but soft and my heart swelled with nostalgia, not for things of my past, but rather for the very moment I was in, how it would soon be over.

My mom called as I was walking home. "It's beautiful outside,” she said, “I just got back from a walk, and it occurred to me that I don't know how many more autumns I will have."

Pause.

"It was so nice to feel the air on my skin," she said, her voice as tender as that very air.

Death is not an unfamiliar topic for my mother and I to discuss, it has been with us in many forms, many ways, and she has instructed me on what to do upon hers: not stay too long in grief, buy myself a beautiful dress, give roses to strangers. But in recent years, the tone of her voice around the topic has changed, and it is clear that she is coming to terms with, preparing for, something else, what’s next.

So that’s why I took the detour on my way home tonight and walked to the park to catch the last glimpse of sun and feel the breeze against my bare arms.

On the last day of summer,

I walk without aim. I am delighted ~ always ~ by dancing shadows. Nothing much new, just a deepening desire for things that cannot be understood at first pass. Forest paths, foreign languages, symphonies.

I look how I look.

I do what I do.

I am who I am.

There is no more to say.

the possibility

of soaking in,

~ sinking into ~

savoring

Slip

into the gap between fences.

Take the muddy trail that belongs only to us all.

They look at you sideways?

Pity them.

They don’t know how magic is made.

Hello, Morning.

My god!
You are stunning.
May I take you to breakfast?

Mastery

is the lovechild of Wonder and Devotion.

On the day the moon went forward of the sun

she woke again,
a Monday, vowed again
to her best with what she’s got
~ a little bit ~
knowing that most things
she does not know.

A prayer again:
"Make me a vessel, empty
and clear. May truth flow through
and kindness too."

It is a tender thing to try
not for perfect,
but for simple.

Progress
Not what it seems.