Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

I stumbled a little I turned around  I almost tripped  On UpsideDown! Newly Forged Upside Down flower by the South Reservoir blockhouse, Central Park

Sweet green bud wrapped tight as a new umbrella sneaking out from winter covers betting its life on another spring.

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

Feel your toes grip the wet sand Inhale the Ocean listen! The gulls are playing. Mission for the Day 1. In today's travels, isolate a small silhouette .  (it should be a ways away, or we can be grabbed by the   nearest 'Q' . ) 2. Pause awhile, and let a blessed, unused memory flood your senses.   3. Breathe deeply. 4. Smile.

What will happen to my soul when you are gone? Will I tack it to a wall in a makeshift frame? Reservoir, late evening in July

TWEET!!  Is that the same dull winter sparrow bursting with life like a happy bud? Is that me, with clumps of spirit blossoms resting in my hand? Me, with a new leaf painted in my soul? Reservoir April 2016

Spring in New York is the most beautiful time! These beautiful blossoms are from the original Yoshino Cherry trees, a gift from Japan in 1912.+ http://www.efcg.com/centralpk.html

Stalking the waters of life, I tromped across the sea grass. Stickers everywhere! Foot by foot, squishing indentations into the wet sea-weeded sand. My soul is hurting for a kindred spirit, I am seeking for a shimmer through my heart, I am seeking an annuity of memories, I am catching at life with a pole and a lure. How do I trust these flutter things? this glimpse without a substance, these unborn wishes riding in, pulsing, panting, pulling at the reins. And there it is! The surf at last, pounding, pushing into the grass-riddled dunes. From the Southern Pump Station Block House, Central Park Reservoir ps: MISSION FOR THE DAY: SEARCH UP AND DOWN FOR AN ICE-FLOW (Iced over puddles count!) DISCOVER WHETHER OR NOT IT IS SUPPORTING ANY WILDLIFE (flora or fauna) IF SO, PONDER THE MATTER FOR AWHILE IF NOT, WELL, ADD SOMETHING! (a leaf, a stem, a pebble, a small pet). Finally, REPORT BACK TO HEADQUARTERS.

Amazing rail-walker survives jogging path trek without a single spot of mud on new shoes.  Eastside Reservoir jogging path

Day filled with crystal windows, Double sided shadows, Bark wet from melting snow, Ready. Sap sneaking up the roots, waiting for a headstart incidental chance, Blossoms barely aware of themselves. It was the sunniest day. Dark travels, rolling across the empty highways, Sidling up to the day, Muddling up the after effects, Settling up the score.

Central Park Reservoir: January 16, 2014

It was just yesterday the skies were coddled grey, clotting in their pre-snow situation, waiting, waiting, maybe for dawn, with a new messenger at the gate.

Anger sets the mind on fire, Dragging hot coals along the breast bone, searching for kindling, searching for a light to spark the white hot fuse. stabbing, searing, driving rage with icy calm, shooting bitter shrapnel, tempering the smitten soul, slicing through the broken worn out spirit, pulling the roots apart, exposing again a breaking heart, still striving reaching, craving for a sun, craving soil that isn’t caked with dead dry muddy quicksand, spiraling spinning, spitting, banging thumpity thumpity thump, thump, thump, thump There is no rhythm to it anymore! No inside shell, no place to go to ground. Nothing but an inside war torn up with foxholes, injured and shredded like a grated thing. How can a few remaining decades mend our very substance? Can I re-enter life again, with such a damaged heart? Oh gentle hope, I see you creeping in among the shadows!

Canada Goose Grooming at the Reservoir Resting near the North Reservoir, Central Park

  I know the way to smudge the situation, the way to gloss over the circumstances, to ink in the shadow lands, to covet the rainbow in the tail end of things. Watch for the dusty splatters left by rain, the shriveled blossoms hanging on, after death has pinched them out of the picture. Grab that scenic trail along the rainbow edges Taste the moment when the thin wire cuts through the lines. I hear you focused in the wind, your frequencies are stubbing out the distances. Stretch out the small, the almost never was, Flatten out the instant hieroglyphic, Sort through the serifs and the forky trampled things-- I know the truth, I hear it in the wireless wind.

Jogger unaware he is falling off the edge of the earth Central Park Reservoir

Ice-crusted wind whistling through the canyons snarling into corners, snuffling up to the window panes. Brown sugar frozen on the ginger bread houses daydreams cringing at the Grimm realities lost among the dead ends of the mind. Day cracks open, crunching, pounding, dressed in winter blue. Oh, what a Blue! Shall I take that crystal daylight bait? Why risk that wrenching heartache one more time? Why not harken back to childish satisfactions? I am a lake fish trapped and flapping under frozen water. Free me! I am in a small space too young to die. Or am I creeping paw by paw above the fragile ice that holds me up from freezing? Inside out and upside down I trace my way along the membranes of reality. Central Park, Post Nemo

There’s a time that comes every once in a while, I know about it; I’ve seen it before, and I bet you know it as well-- that scape without a sea or a land to anchor its astral position. I heard it said the other day, that intellect and feeling live in separate domains, and yet now and then a remnant escapes from the past  to rattle today. I know a brainstorm comes now and then, but who cares, and so what? It's polite as can be, It knocks before it comes in! But an emotional scrap, now that does distract! It mews and it pants with a wish and a bounce, dribbling, careening, and trouncing right over our sane conversation! It was then that I knew how I longed for that day,  the one that I thought I had lost.. A crumpled up day tossed away in the rain, a puddle I barely remember. What happens then, when you watch the same scape  a hundred times over again, without  land or a sea or a shore that remains of our permanent link in that destiny chain. ...

When there’s only a streak or two left from the settling sun, when only dusk and grain remain from the contrasting blue, then dark green shadows burrow into the soul, where even love escapes from destiny