Your fingers touch everything, turning over leaves, lifting whole branches, then letting them drop, You travel around the world touching everyone, giving breath and taking breath away, no matter color or size. You carve stone, no instant artistry. I love your music, classical or rock.
Morning. Hello, you’ve brought sunshine, chirping birds, and rush hour traffic zooming by. And today you’ve brought a whole new month, fresh, sparkling, new with whole clear days to be seized, filled, or left empty.
Let me speak to empty. Space. No schedule. Puddling around. Lazy. Why would I say lazy? Something in me, inherent in my culture? Perhaps some unconscious troll lurking under my bridge of consciousness. I digress. Let me return to the stack of new days in the month. It feels almost like New Years. I could make a list of resolutions: more picnics, concerts, laughs. Do I remember how to laugh? A stretch into silliness … with crayons and happiness.
I become exuberant as I write. Choices flooding my in-thought … what I could do on this gaggle of days. Maybe a whole month to steer on, like an ocean with white-sailed boat. Fly over deep blue water. A universe of newness.
I am filled with the power of choice and I rejoice, taking pen and calendar, admiring the system called time and days. I start to pen in, one day, the next, till there is so much black ink I forget about my blue-ocean-sail-boat with sails brought to life with my breath, my imaginings for a whole universe of possibility. Maybe next month I’ll remember my list.