Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

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?

Of course I remember September! Red cliffs of rosy, happy sandstone, trees glowing, no fear for winter, not those days with all our layers. I settled down though, under greyer skies, . foggy skies with rubber boots on, wading through the white caps, sailing over dark green waters. What if I hadn’t jumped at the chance? Lept into the backseat of that four door traveling fall? There’s only words left now, just a bunch of letters strewn along, making up lines as they go.      A bread crumb life, longing after the sandstone hills, Oh, how I need another century! A Wet Day in Late September Mission for today: What if we have another Century afterall? 1. Think about what you might do tomorrow then, 2. Why not? 3. I mean, it's only one day, right? It's always a good idea to take a note. “Nothing is impossible, the word itself says ‘I’m possible’!” — Audrey Hepburn posted by http://this-stupid-thing.tumblr.com/

Edgy and exhausted, broken, held together like safety glass, walking around covered with clothes, inside shivering in the dull sun. Heart careening from chakra to chakra looking for a place to mend. How is the sky still a happy blue, with all those clouds scratching? Dry green leaves scraping over each other, pretending its still summer. Grated afternoons garnishing that shrunken hot dog, withered down to a shriveled string. How did it look so plump under that awful sauerkraut? Colorado Late Summer Squiva Trained Picnic Model

Hippity happily hoppity cheese Tra la la tra la lo pickles and peas Eenie and meenie and olives and ham He loves me he doesn’t I don’t give a damn. This is a riddle of dubious merit, There isn’t a stick and there isn’t a carrot, What is the question and what is the clue? It’s a new kind of riddle, a total break through! We’re deep and we’re smart so there must be a lesson I’ve got it! We’re stocking a delicatessen! Sandwiches, condiments, peanuts and brew, Ice cream and cookies and Katmandu—  Katmandu? No, I mean Cordon Bleu! Whew…. Delicatessen in Sag Harbor

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, With the odds of success about one in ten, Is it time to re-think what my methods have been? I’ve tried it before, And I'll try it some more! Sooner or later I’ll settle the score. Remember that time when it all seemed to work? Obsessing, regressing, and going berserk? It's bound to recur, or was it a quirk? It will all be OK if I have my way! Maybe I’ll rant and maybe I’ll pray, But whatever I do, I will have my say! Hurray! red flower

Shafts of light slice through the loosened boards Scrabbling along the hay-washed floor dimming down the dusty corners still smelling of the dry harvests. Horse a little restless in her stall. Or is that rustle cut from a different day? Green hayfields full of noisy birds, mixed flocks foraging in sparking swirls, hushing down in the green-yellow grasses. Love pushing into the afternoons, still evenings drenched with dreams. Southern Colorado near Crestone

Screaming down the highway in the soaking sun, Clouds streaking, winds snapping, Summer on the run. Trail Ridge Road, Colorado

Afternoons are rainy here, black paint drips into the wet grey skies. Cold rains are coming; summer flees with a tempered wave. I'd like to read your mind, please, since I  know your soul already. Estes Park, Late Summer 2013

Iron rust-worn gates holding in the childhoods Time herding memories into corners Two ruts for a road, packed down and lined with grass Apples, dusty red, almost ripe Air standing up so fresh, bitter pine and cottonwoods Dinner time, shadowless and sweaty with hay dust Light fading away with yesterday.

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!

A too bright day of dappled paths and sun stripped fences, Light shards bouncing, scattering, scampering, Hanging sheets, white and playing, Laundry baskets pulled along, close pins pinching, towels flapping, Hunting berries down the canyon, Pulling onions, shelling peas, Harvest coming, ripening, softening, Swelling in the summer sun. Central Park Reservoir Berries

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,)

Did you ever have a time in your life when the ages of your life were switching back and forth, oscillations all over the place?  I have!  Past returning again and again, mid years tumbling over each other, today a sort of happenstance.. Time circling, head reeling Panoramas bending in Where did I lose my timing? Before, after, synchronize! Spinning in a daze of might-have-beens Where is the middle way? Years flashing, streaking, blurring Over and over, one more time Pennies dropping, arrow hovering Lead ball closing in. Sea grass tumbles in the evening sun Wet roots, clammy with potential. Shall I double down on the red today Or hope against hope for a black? The colors are running, the dye is cast Just one more quarter turn! Atlantic Ocean at Sag Harbor

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.

The steps weren’t cracked so badly then, the summer when we met. I never did say what I wanted, since I thought it would all work out. What was said there on the broken steps with the fireflies and the early dusk? It was so difficult to listen! My mind turned away I guess. I wonder, though. if it could have changed the situation. I mean if I had spoken up.

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

I crave those times I refused to notice, when I lived behind the separator, catching reflections in the transparent screen: red snowsuits glancing by in January, spring-green boots. August—limp, dry, sticky with sap. Camping in the lodgepole pines, quiet needle carpets crunching, hiking, breathing, always such a long way to go. Why am I always, always last? I am weighted down with last year’s dinners. I see a paint drip frozen dry on the yellow wall. Why notice it now, when the time to fix is over? Staring out the dusty window, Rain throwing spatters down my face. From Light to Dark on Madison Avenue

I crave that weary, empty cave Those unremitting ribbons of geology Those booming echoes drip by drip Sneaking down the cranial walls Etching with acid despair. I crawl into the water, weighted by the world Slipping into the muddy bottom Staring down the midnight eels. Vitality drawn thin as a crack. Do not inhale, don’t do it! Do not drown in watery inches! Wait for one more morning sun Shafting through the silting creek beds, Dappled with leaves and colored stones. Green with Garden Hose

How easily I forgot you! How totally I repaired the sad tracks scratched into my heart, nails screeching on the inside ribs. No more tunneling with dream-lit ironclad excuses. No seeping, easing, losing track of all those sinking feelings- the over betting one more time, the losing streak, the final wishful shuffle. How easily I recall that blissful epicenter, the endless summersaulting days, the starlit nights alive with silence. How did they sink so finally into the sand? Riftstone Arch on the bridle path underneath the 72nd pedestrian entrance into the west side of Central Park