Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

as luck would have it, while walking in a field of yellow leaves,  we find Robino once again, nibbling on a Red Berry.  Late afternoon by the reservoir in Central Park

I’ve had my share of trinkets Cluttering up my days. Memories are tugging at me, tying me down, Or did I settle in?    My days are scattering like matches, Burning up the moments. Summer shrivels up like a prune, Sucking sap back into the root of things. A turtle digs down below frost line, Preparing for its winter nap.     A shark swims by and leaves no trace, yet something turns up missing.  

In my inner space I resonate, buzzing symbiotically, snuggling up in yellow pollen, resting my wings in lavender petals.  

Having lost the directions to the local Milkweeds, Monarch is faced with the prospect of resting amid the dizzying chrysanthemums. Thankfully, Monarch still stands out!

Thank you for your service.... Callery Pear Tree Leaves, November 24 2016 /br /br

I was stuck on a limb on the upper east side, I haven't a clue how I got there! I was hungry and cold and I needed a nap, I was lonely and full of despair. I was inching along in the best way I could, but I haven't got feet, and I slipped on the wood! I am fortunate, though, I fell onto this hole! So, I ate and I ate, and I'm gaining some weight, I am warm, I feel great, all I need is a mate! I am ready nourish my soul! Along the East Side of the Reservoir, Central Park

Our graceful Rainbow plays for a moment in the Italian Garden Fountain. As you can see, Rainbow is already vanishing back into its transparent spirit home. Fortunately, our brave photographer arrived just in time! A fall afternoon in the Italian Garden

It may seem as though the secret garden is an idyllic spot for calm and serenity, but even in paradise there is strife. Our brave photographer was sitting quietly among the berries and the fall lilies, watching Ounce an lots of friends playing in the Sparrow Bowl, when all at once, Red Cardinal came swooping down, scattering sparrows right and left!   Perhaps this swooping was innocent enough, but our brave photographer was so stunned by the chaos that Ounce was entirely forgotten!  Ounce  was furious, and a furious, wet sparrow is a dangerous thing.  Ounce dive-bombed a couple of times and practically drown trying to save the sanctity of the sparrow bowl.  Amazingly, as stunned as our brave photographer was, the footage was still in the cloud! Conservancy Garden, October 2016, from daylight into evening Central Park

Catbird and Cardinal play in the red autumn water.  Ounce couldn't help joining in.   Hey! I know it's blurry, but it's a start!

Off to school with sharpened promises. Seeking a simple space reserved for me. Oh how I wished and waited, loved and prayed. May I have a pleasant dream, a morning full of breezes? Now and then a glance my way, shooting light through a hidden shard. How I wanted to pursue you-- Where was that spark inside my soul, Whispering through the painted leaves-- “I love you” “You can count on me”

Walking along on the wrong side of the sunny street, I took it upon myself to wonder, why does the world seem a little bit shallow; flat maybe, not up to my usual standards? It seemed as though I'd been on this very block before, once upon a time in the early autumn. So as last resort I took a walk. A walk! Oh, how I have missed my walks! Look! See that sunlit sky as blue as starch, edging over that limb? It’s pushing away the grey underbelly of the day. Is that a sparrow resting a minute on a colden rail? Wait! My Gosh, it’s Ounce! Our little Ounce, fluffed up and balanced as a ball. Ounce is off now, to sip from the edges of a late fountain fall. Oh dear, I was so excited I forgot to take a picture!  Don’t worry though, we made an appointment.

Passion slicing into waiting cells I-ching tossing wake up dreams No more pickup-stix with broken spirits It is him, just him, that's what it seems A base note playing with a rare perfume A tangle full of top notes, singing Almost as though it were actually me Is this the way it ought to be This is the way of the inside me That movie-raptured side of me Chondrial self without the layers Dharma self, made up of chi Living in a palomino day Soaking with the breath of life sinking Into the sunny layer Into who am I am I me am I you am I Yes! Oh how I want that way to be Rusty leaves, dry stalks and slippery greens Pulsing with the drum of life Transparent with the juice of winter apples. Italian Garden, Conservancy Garden, New York Central Park

Rusty with life I flee the stainless streets, escaping to the border places, neon blinks through half a sign. Dark wood angles jut and flounder on their way to make up a house. Galvanized garbage can broken on the sidewalk, lid almost covering the mess inside. Loose wires hang over broken grass, holding on in the front-yard dust. Green planks cross-hatch behind the steps, covering the belly of the porch. Inside the floor is still swept clean; There's a curtain instead of a door. Hangman stalks the inside house, waiting for a turn of events. Across the Harlem Meer

The world is frought but I am not. Two Central Park Trees Falling in Love

The clock strikes the hour, that’s what they all say But is it eight? Is it late? Shall we call it a day? When we met it was spring with the buds being born Now it’s springtime again and I’m feeling forlorn. What’s in it for me, said the mouse to the owl “Come closer, you’ll see”, said the owl on the prowl. “You’re burning so bright”, said the moth to the light “Yet whatever I do you just sit there despite All my flutters and flitters designed to excite! Are you just too bright for a romance tonight?” If we all only knew what to do when deluded By fauna and flora with light bulbs included We might satisfy a grand plan or grand mal-- The heck with it! I’m going to move to Nepal. Things are better in Nepal,  there’s no doubt about this I hear it all the time, "Nepal is pure Bliss". Or perhaps a magic pumpkin patch will do  this time, It's nearby, that's why! And the weather is sublime. Bunnell Farm-- Litchfield. Connecticut

The West Cornwall Covered Bridge spans the Housatonic River. According to Wikipedia, it opened in 1841.

Just take my life, I hand it over, palm full and pulsing. I have no stories to tell anymore, No more backups and no more clogs, no retrievals, and no Aha!s They went down the drain with the last hurrah; Give me the point of the captured moment, when the day is lost in the stars. Give me the time for letting go, When faith is as real as a unicorn, Tell me the way to carry you with me In the puddled sway of eternity. Show me the season for a peak at life and a burnished turn of events as well, come with me into the space between the ring of truth and the tolling bell. Harlem Meer from 109th and Fifth Avenue

Late in the dead afternoon I crawled Up the boulder bunched against a foothill. I don’t remember why, not now. I remember the achy feeling though, And the shallow, predictable demise of it all, After those compass-free days, What buried treasure touched the fire, What silky agent pierced the boundary line? The narrow roadway, white and chalked, Hemming the highland summer meadow, Could I forget those stars, however misaligned? Would I delete that edgeless, radiant, holographic night; Could I forget you, and would I live a single day?

Has there ever been a more synchronous, resonant, convenient and suitable place for storing a  Burning Bush?

Why is that   plug 4 inches from the socket?       Was it that small coincidence that set it off ? Maybe we should splice it with a piece of life,       Connect those missing kaleidoscopic dots. And by the way,       I do know about those consequences.      ( I read a lot)