Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

Does the whistle still blow along the railroad tracks? Does the steam still whoosh around those iron wheels? Drawn to the rails like an iron filing, I yearned for a molecular rearrangement, a stretched out yesterday, I didn’t know the ache of my itinerary. Where is the frosted, yellow wheat? Where is the red sunset against that winter tree? Where is the empty creek bed? Where is the meaning of magenta? The Station’s empty now, the crowds sucked into evening, Craving the new neon, built with energy saving bulbs. An undeciphered answer hiding in the wires. Can we hear the songs of those without another spring, Slipping into their new life, plunging into colors, Bursting with new dimensions?

HO HO HO, I’m called a manhole even though, It's inaccurate now Since I’ve had to learn how To let both men and women below. Now I’m not just a cover But also a lover; (for every quid there’s a quo)

Cleopatra's Needle, probably constructed in the 1200's BC, is almost 3000 years old. I am not even a 100!  It's all a matter of scale. Here's Cleo's Needle keeping company with one of Central Park's signature lamposts. Cleopatra's Needle and a Lampost Reflection::  Trees and a Wavy Cleopatra's Needle

Look closer!  Way in among the wrinkly petals are tiny yellow star flowers.  Let me take you closer... Central Park, January Witch Hazel Miss Witch Hazel, Dressed in Ribbons

It was late that dreary afternoon when I finally got home. I walked into my  sheltered entrance and something caught my eye!  It was a dark, bluish, ballish sort of thing. As I crept closer to see what it possibly could be, it began to move!  I jumped back, and when it had settled down, it revealed a beak and what looked like tail feathers!  But what was it doing in my entrance way?  There are many warmer doorways--just ask a homeless person.  Then it dawned on me; the answer was clear.  My entrance way was color coordinated. Pigeon Disturbed in a Doorway

Winter  blowing--stiff, dry, rustling in the empty lot, Vacant, covered with weeds, Broken bottle scraps etched by the sandy summer rains. Caps with cork, buried and dented Mind splintering, rasped edges, frozen with footprints White owl swivels, vanishing into a naked tree-- I know it’s snowing! Don’t tell me! I’ve seen those shriveled twigs, barked by snow, white theatrics! Grey midnights, star-stuffed skies Mind shivering, sockets empty, iced with dreams I’ve tasted snow already! Stinging, melty, dusty, smelling of wire, Flakes clumping on the window screen. Yes, I see the spring shadows, hunching over the branchy tips, Curling, nipping at the buds Mind cracking, strafed by morning, sniffing after spring.

Almost tread-free New York City