​The well, infinite,
if you imagine pouring
never ending love.

There is a watercolor that has moved from studio to studio, around my house, buried in other papers.It is unfinished, yet is it? I keep leaving it this way, my eyes falling into the pool, and then thinking I may pull something out of the whirlpool. I hang it up and stare at it, sometimes staying on the surface, sometimes falling in it. Since becoming a parent, a blog I follow says children need two buckets filled each day, one of control and mastery, the other with attention and love. If one is not filled or out of balance, that is when "bad" behavior happens,outbursts, etc.Since the pandemic started, I have thought hard about how I viewed other children's out-of-control behavior before, that I viewed in stores, parties... now...there is so much going on, no end of infinite stimuli of not knowing the next day, or the endless schedule of sameness. I am focused more than ever on love, and not judgement. I will wade gently in that pool, and not get sucked in, or let it go dry.

​We've set out to sail,
discovery awaits us-
from all ports inside.

I somehow magically got my kiddo off-screen today, and we made a little sailboat and explored a lake nearby to test it. So many intentions over the years to walk around this small lake, just a bike ride from my house. Work and others' needs always got in the way. Today was the day and we saw ducks, a turtle climb back in its shell and plop back in the water, woodpeckers and black-capped chickadees singing their song. Soon there will be a "pause" again, and we will need to imagine our way to the other side of it, from our own tiny port.

Some shine hot and bright,
leave a mess of dust, comets-
oh-but sparks, and sparks.....

Over a decade ago, I taught in a high school and met some brilliant students, who taught me, too. Teaching is often reciprocal, or should be, to get anything out of it, or to give. One of my students passed away unexpectedly, and she was opinionated, and would tell you straight out how she felt. I am sure many found it unladylike, but I loved it. I wish I were as brave as her, my younger self. She took nothing, and you knew when she arrived..and now she has "left the store" as my daughter said a long time ago when she was trying to understand when people died. So many sparks...to collect them would light a city.

The sky was a cloak
of murder, caws for judgment-
the crescent abstained.

Walking out of work, there were so many crows in the sky, on buildings, in the trees. Obviously, there was something to converge about and they were in deep discussion. It brought me back to my apartment in St. Louis when I was in college, and there were some large, old sycamores, whose branches stretched over the street and acted like they were part of the building. The crows would come and sit, and I would be within 10 feet of some of them, going about their business and ignoring my human ways. When getting out of the car at home,  there was the moon, a fuzzy crescent, above it all and hanging out with a planet and a few stars, leaving all the arguments behind. ​

Keeping it simple,
simple as can be, no thanks
to all thankless tasks.

This is a finally finished poem from yesterday, and a friend provided it with this gift. Here is to releasing oneself of all tasks that are endless, and unrewarding. Keep it simple.

Lightening the weight
of the day, passing the hours
like light through the leaves.

Today was just a day. There was lots of it: catching up, haircuts, tidying, working too late. In the sepia light that is early afternoon, when my daughter was in the back seat of the car, she got quiet. She is often a chatterbox and I stopped the car to look back, and she was annoyed that I did. She was just enjoying the drive and wanted to watch the leaves going by until we got home. It was like an internal filter had shifted with the season; slow down and enjoy.

Thank you, nesting birds,
building with branches, mud, spit-
let our home be yours

We loved the robin family this summer. It was our entertainment off-screen, and some of the young ones seemed to regard us kindly. Of course, we had to put a bit of extra protection of nets on the blackberries and blueberries-which they complained about-but I left a few open spots for them.  They ate the mosquitos and the bugs we did not want, so it was fair. Please come again.

Here I go forward,
one rotation at a time.
Momentum! At last!

Earlier in the summer I did some physical therapy, but it’s only recently my mind believed it. I took a long ride on my bike, and for the first time in a few years, no pain or tightness in my knee. I zipped around the local boulevard in record time. Time to celebrate and keep moving forward!

To read a poem
is to be a child, devour
words like a great meal.

My child has been studying poetry, and she loves it. We have been reading Shel Silverstein for years at night, and now they are reading his work in class. She is learning all different types of rhyme and meter. Listening to her, and reading her homework is a feeling like cracking open a geode. Will there be crystals or empty space? All a discovery. ​

To sit, radiate, 
in purrs and softness, kindness
wrapped in velvet paws.

There is nothing nicer than a cat in your lap after a long day. Nothing expected but your company and warmth.