morning light…

“Oh! that my soul had winged its flight,
When first I saw the morning light,
To worlds of liberty!”

George Moses Horton, slave/self taught/poet

 

strolling the beach for treasures…

“Words today are like the shells and rope of seaweed which a child brings home glistening from the beach and which in an hour have lost their luster.” Cyril Connolly

Chinese writing…

Perhaps someone could explain the meaning? I could not locate the usual, nearby explanation for what I was viewing beyond a pleasing water feature.

fear of flying…

haunting childlike dreams

jumping, flying from the stairs

stomach in our throat

then climbing stairs ever upward

some inner struggle

 lies ever present beneath

born in younger years

Voodoo & Observation

Seekers always looking for a magic potion, a bullet. Betting the farm on a color, a size, a shape of fly. Carrying an arsenal of what if’s & maybe’s. Sometimes their face bears the glassy eyed true believer’s look as they finally meet the divine. Almost sacred, yes actually sacred, a mystique is built upon the entire pursuit of the sea run trout…the steelhead. Pick a color…your color? Or the fish’s color? Gear tuned, fortunes spent, easily rationalized…what price Nirvana? Not the warm, up canyon winds of Summer now, but rather the hammer smashing frozen fingertips of Winter. Rods, lines, loads, casts and in the end the most important: presentation and voodoo magic. 

The flow of ideas…….

“May what I do flow from me like a river, no forcing and no holding back, the way it is with children.”   Rainer Rilke

The Shed: trapped

Brush away the webs

that collect the old worries

and keep us trapped