Observation - October 4th, 2019, Friday

Observation

It is 6:00 and I am at the airport in Minneapolis.

The concourse is teeming with people, travelers.

I am flying to New York to see my friend and watch the Twins battle the Yankees.

There is reggae playing at a bar I am sitting at.

The bar is closed.

I was the first to take a seat here, and now the number of people has multiplied.

A cooked poked his head out from the kitchen, he looked like he is wondering what we are all doing sitting here.

He looked a little nervous, like he is wondering how the day will begin, starting with a full house.

I wonder if it is normal, or if my precipitous seating brought about the wave.

Observation, December 2nd, 2017, Saturday

It is noisy at the airport at 6:00 am

The plane to New York promises to be full

The smell of perfume is think in the waiting area

I am sitting next to a Buddhist, wearing the saffron and ochre robes

Of Gottama, of the philosopher, of St. Katherine

The crowd in the terminal are speaking in tongues

In the tongues of humankind, though undoubtedly

There are angels among us, a one-armed man walks past me

There is a ball of fire climbing over the horizon

Casting light on the moon in its fullness

There is a buzz of activity beyond the window

Flickering orange and red, and green

I am waiting patiently to take flight

Observation - July 2nd, 2017, Sunday

Observation

The light is soft in the morning.

The house is quiet…the city is quiet.

People have left town for the holiday that is coming.

It is Sunday morning, and there is parking available on the street in front of my house.

The birds are talking to each other.

My lady is still asleep behind the closed door of the bedroom.

Kitty is in the big window watching the wind blow through wisteria.

The smell of gunpowder still lingers in the air,

            The residue of 2:00 am revelry.

Observation - April 2nd, 2017, Sunday

There is laughter peeling from behind the closed door.

The sun is climbing behind a soft gray sheet of clouds.

The talking heads are chirping about treason, and lies.

The robins are chirping for each other, oblivious, free.

November 1st, 2016, Tuesday - Observation

Observation

It is morning. Dark in Autumn.

The house is stirring.

I hear the creaking of footsteps on the floor boards above me.

The news anchors chattering on the T.V.

There is one week to go before the election, a new president. There is fear, and uncertainty in the country.

She and I are talking about our changing lives.

She talks just as much to me, as to the cat, sitting behind me on the blanket on the chair.

Outside, the maples have dropped their leaves, a bright yellow carpet laid over the yard.

Today the sun is promised.  

Observation - June 1st, Wednesday, 2016

Observation

The sun has come up.

She is sleeping. Her head on the pillow; a soft copper cloud.

There are birds singing in the morning light, in hushed tones; a whisper of whistles.

The rabbits are gathered on the lawn, pushing their noses through the Creeping Charlie.

Foraging, at the dawn; the metal scrappers push carts down the alley, in a jangle and clattering song.