Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

Tree limb bending in the morning, Winter grasses stiff and waiting, cold, ice-flow afternoon. Or maybe it’s a new day dawning as they do, sucking chi up into the core of the bones. I was a cut out,  filled with stuffing, a matched up crazy quilted scarecrow living a see-through life. So, I grab a 10 pound pack and a forty dollar bike and head off towards the Adriatic. Hills of scrunched-up fruit trees in pink and white, so happy you can taste the almond blossoms. Stradas Provinciales tunneled with poplars. There's a cotton-candy Ferris Wheel the first night out, a calliope singing Verdi in the popcorn wings. And it wasn’t that long ago either.

Amazing!!!  For many, many years, the Authorities have been searching in vain for this unidentified Urban Volunteer.  She is wanted in several cities across the Northeast for unauthorized vigilante feeding of native Flora and an occasional Fauna.  Notice the furtive posture and the heavy dark glasses-- both known markers of an Urban Vigilante Volunteer.    Although --call her Madam UVV-- has attempted at the last moment to hide behind a branchlet, it isn't a really successful choice. I hesitate to publish this photo, But it is clearly in our best interests to allow these Urban Vigilante Volunteers to retain their freedom.  After all, somebody has to see that the appropriate things are getting done.  Therefore, be on the lookout.  If you chance upon Madam UVV or another Vigilante Volunteer, please provide them a quiet, unobtrusive warning. Urban Vigilante Volunteer --incognito

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.

Tiptoeing through my fiberglass life, fearing a dent at every corner, training wheels wobbling, tattered and torn, the day wears on to a tricycle close. Well, I didn't change on purpose you know, I would happily have remained the same, hoping for a happy, homespun solution!

On attempting to discover the steps on the way outside Front Steps On Attaining Footing on the Sidewalk Sidewalk and Tree Bed On Achieving a Restaurant that is Opened Complete Strangers Dining in a Turkish Restaurant

Sneaking out the beauty in the stumbling places Seeing bright red brick under the tarnished  episodes Knowing for once the people underneath the rubble Unearthing the best in show. Just below Park Avenue & 97th Street

Buried in disappointment I set out to trace those wanton steps, their outlines white on white, no tea leaves left in a cup.. Crisscrossed traces staining, weaving patterns, losing track. Winter staggering, weighted with hopes,  insides icing over. But it was only yesterday! My honeyed heart! Dripping and sunny! Pulling summer apples from the nourished air, soaking up love from life like a wick. How could I misplace that happy glue that spackled up my soul? Where is the relentless sap that limbers up these stiffened winter limbs? My mind can see a thousand years, why can’t I see around that corner? On East 90th Street, looking West

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.

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

Is there a pathway to that unknown destination? Traveling, traveling, turning a corner here and there, Labyrinths and crossroads, matrices and a web of life; Is that a trace of the Master Weaver Spinning out our destinies?

Sept 21, 2013:  Eat 90s New York City

Conservancy Water Lily, August 2013

Harsh lights gritty sidewalks, squeaking grating doorways, Metal glass chrome doors, decals pealing and maybe a bell, Hard to remember where I left those cut-up dreams. I let one go the other day, just a crumple and a toss and a "So what now?" There’s another one around the corner, right? Dim-lit yellow hallways, bathroom down the hall, Shredded carpet, bruised and dirty, Don’t even think about the paint. A single cot, thin mattress, square table made with wood, That single bulb hanging on to a cord. There in the corner, I saw the crumpled might-have-been. Missed the rusted basket; poor shot. I walked out with it, of course I should have left it there along with the rest of the picture. Instead I spread it out on an ironing board, Ink worn through and faded, edges broken and frayed, But maybe it could have been salvaged. I think I see a painted house, light green, and a stoop. There’s a bay window, I remember now, pink reflected in the window pane,

The night dies and a day is born, when do we turn on the timing? Is it the lights and the dramas, or the harvests and the noon time bells? Go ahead and take the stars, for I have no more use for them. Take the sun away and let me cope as best I can, pale blacks and white greys will cover the differentiations. Madison Avenue and 106th (dawn/dusk) Your Mission, should you choose to accept it, is to pause midway between, say, this and that; or between, say, here and hereafter, where and why, or whichever and whichnever. Take a pause only long enough to see the commonality of things, and then--back to splitting seconds!

I once was a flower of spirit & elan I can’t remember when I was part of a cluster of beauty you see But I didn’t see it then I think I had a sweet bouquet But I can’t remember when My beauty faded, like it does I regret it now and then I lost my petals and fell to the ground I’m not sure what happened then Somehow this summer I came back again But I can’t remember when! Snowball bush in the Secret Garden -- 2013 Mission for the day: 1. Select a time when you should be doing something else 2. Breath deeply. In......Out. Iiiiiiinnnnn..... Out... 3. Picture a clock in your mind. (how many of you pictured an alarm clock with a bell on top?) 4. Now think: Tick! jump! Tock! jump! Tick! jump! Tock!! 5. Finally, recall the quiet, sweeping second hands of old...... tiiccckkkktocccckkktiiccckkkktocccckkk May you be blessed sweeping petals and slowly changing things, ( was a bloom with esprit and élan,)

Individual at Metropolitan Museum of Art holding virtual head Perseus, Perseus Immitator, and Perseus Immitator's Frightened Observer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on Perseus Immitator's Birthday

I heard about it a time or two, This particular path is big taboo, But what else is a person supposed to do? The entire garden is calling for you! There are blossoms! and Sunlight! and Forks to explore! and the Birds! and the Bees! It's too much to ignore! The leaves are so green and the scents are so nice, Sometimes the answer is, Don't Think Twice.

fer·ry    /ˈferē/ Noun A boat or ship for conveying passengers and goods, esp. over a relatively short distance and as a regular service. Verb Convey in a boat, esp. across a short stretch of water. Synonyms ferryboat - raft         (Quiet, now....let's not cause disappointment.  I mean, even if the ferry is seriously late, there is always the chance of a raft...) Harlem Meer in July 2013

Clutching after reality I make my way in the setting sun (Seeking out the unlit door, Paper bag rumpled in the corner, Old man hunching up the dirty steps.) I walk through the iron-studded door into the mythic sanctuary (Walls covered with metaphors, Banks of unlit penny candles, Stained glass.) I light the wooden stick from a nearby flickering prayer (Smell the old dust and new wax, Kneel on the seasoned wood, Listen for the echoes in the cubbyholes.) One for you, one for me, one for the middle ground