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.

Observation - January 2nd, 2017, Monday

Observation

It is 4:00 pm, and the rain is freezing.

The rain covers everything in a thickening layer of ice, a slurry of slush and snow.

It was warm today, but the temperature is falling, dropping below zero.

There are people outside, they have no shelter.

Some will not make it through the night.

I am warm in my house.

My cat does not give a care for the world, except to see through the window a bird, a rabbit, or a squirrel.

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.  

October 1st, 2016, Saturday

Observation

It is noon, the autumn sun is bright,

And silver.

My cat is sitting on her blanket in the window;

Soaking the soft light into her soft tawny fur.

The news talkers are chattering as I type;

Trump, trumpet, strumpet, hype.

I am tired; from three weeks straight of working.

My sweetheart is in the garden; weeding.

I hear her talking with neighbors as they stroll by.

Observation - August 1st, 2016, Monday

Observation

It is 4:00 am and dark outside.

The streets are quiet.

My cat is sleeping nearby on her blanket, atop the book case. My gal, in the bed behind the closed door.

It is warm. The air is heavy in the house.

I am listening to the news, the voices are muffled over the low pitched noise of the humming fan, on the end table by my desk.

The coffee maker beeps, beeps, beeps…it is telling me that the warming plate below the pot is about to switch off.

I do not care for the sound of its alarms.

Observation - July 1st, 2016, Friday

Observation

I can hear the wet-clinging strokes of the paint roller.

The back and forth, the up down; I can hear the spreading of the new white, covering the old white, yellowed with age.

She is painting the bedroom, while I listen to news, and write, and prepare for work.

My cat is watching the city from atop the couch; in the picture window.

Sunlight brushes the lilies in the boulevard.

A cool wind is blowing through the peonies, the dark green leaves are just bushes now; having dropped the soft petals, from their pendulous flowers.

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.