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

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

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.

A traveling thought billowed into my mind (I had a sad little broken-bottle life, till then) Long beaches full of empty shells with six-foot rattlers, so I hear Water moccasins down there somewhere, too Spiders and roaches. Which is worse? Not a sidewalk at all in the county Photos stick together in the mildew sun Thirty-six story spacecraft under Climate Control. No looking further than the front way out No window washing, locking doors Bouncing about like a shot without a sling, My soul was on vacation, so maybe that was it. Something took a nip and a tuck out from my life So, I trimmed up for the season, and I sailed back home. I know I should have taken up a life of crime but, the threat seemed just too hollow. I see the animations on the edge of time The orbiters are swimming too close to the light. We are all of us moths, when the flight seems right.