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 - November 2nd, 2017, Thursday

At 4:00 am the street outside my window

Is bright with electric light, Bryant Avenue

The refrigerator is noisy, click, rattle, hum

The floors have a different squeak to them

Deeper along the joists, a bus rolls by #4

Kitty is on her blanket, taking in her view

The wind in the maple blowing, leaves

Gathered by the stairs, there are no rabbits

On Bryant, but there are chip monks

With their striped fur, they are sleeping

She is waiting for them to wake