Clear Vision

Good Morning! So we are here, at the next day that has never been lived before and I sit in the early

morning as sun moves through oak branches and I watch the Giant Flicker and Purple House Finch and Black Capped Chickadee discover fresh seed at the feeder. Sunlight filters through the leaves, thorns and buds of Chuck's rose garden that shimmers with heavy dew -- the tall grasses sparkle as if covered with mini-holiday lights as drops of water catch the sun's attention. This is what I see. This is what is before me. Also, I must admit another truth -- I have killed seven ants crawling on my arms and three mosquitoes biting my propped up ankles. I was going to write of the exquisite taste of the Tea Berry coffee but I jarred the table while slapping an ant and spilled coffee on my new "Forever Royal" (KC Royals) T-Shirt which is now soaking in the kitchen sink as the end of rush hour traffic heats up into irritated honking horns, screeching tires and the inevitable sound of sirens. So my morning observation includes a brilliant rising sun heralding a new summer day filled with chirping birds and morning dew -- and also irritating ants, mosquitoes, spilled coffee, spinning tires and sirens. I want to wax on and find my own meaning in this bi-polar world but the only realization I can come up with is: this is the way life is. What do I do about it? I suppose the only action available is to move forward one moment at a time -- to see both the art and the drama and respond with clear vision leaning towards a an empathetic view.

If I was to write a poem today

If I was to write a poem about fall it would begin at dawn as I notice the orange red sky and notice how crystal clear breathes the air and notice the soft turquoise light settling into morning's visions of October baseball playing through all things like movie music and the day begins after the night before when a ten-inning game turned to a win out of which flew midnight's victoriously gleeful team. If I was to write a poem about fall it would begin here with my first cup of coffee and the chair in which I sit to write next to the window with cool glass panes and a balcony view of treetops. This poem sees the transfer of pigment through leaves of the beech that show a brightness of yellow as the cheers from last night's game spirit through lacy spaces. This October poem sings "Lets go Royals" as the silver sliver of moon dresses for tonight's party. The Game.

Companion Sun

Hummingbird flits around purple Butterfly bush      Striped ground squirrel hides in pink Gladiolas        Cat naps on cedar bench under the oak tree     Wild Geraniums explode into blue blooms          Downy Woodpecker pecks at the feeder        Redbud rents space in the rose garden     Sunflowers bend with abundant seeds       Red Zinnias in the east garden, 4' tall       Goldfinch sway on Sunset Echinacea        I sit in a chair on the redwood deck      Butterflies visit Oregano in clay pot       Mourning Dove coos on power line        Traffic moving along 75th Street       Surprise lilies gossip in groups       Pond water trickles over rocks        Sun sits in the opposite chair       Dog sleeps on the driveway     Second cup of coffee        White Hardy Hibiscus        Bumble Bee       Day off.

Dazzled

A brand new day -- I've never lived this day before and the thought of it is quite exciting. I'm watching the late summer sun rise and show its light behind the straight up oak as I sit looking east. Hummingbirds studiously move among pink and purple fluted morning glories. Sometimes, one little bird as big as a bumblebee visits the feeder on the fence where I sit on the deck. I can hear the buzzing of his wings as he busily flits from one to another of the plastic yellow flowers circling the red sugar water container. The sound of the neighborhood is mostly traffic down on 75th street which is busy with folks making their way to work and, so far, not a peep of a siren as the police car sits catlike beside the Catholic school; they always nab at least one unsuspecting person running behind time. And there's

so much more, but I must read the Tao, still absorbing One -- the chapter of no name and no word. I am reading and re-reading every sound and space: "Whether a person who is awake in play sees the heart of life or its surface manifestations is hardly important because they are exactly the same point in space and time. . ." So, as Jane Cat and I sit in the morning, awakening to all tastes of breeze and scents of whatever we breathe in and breathe out and sights of various scenes of sun, hummingbird, violet aster, squawking squirrel, we "are exactly the same point in space and time. . ." -- Bluejay up close and train somewhere distant hold us together in this space at this time in contentment and deep contemplative pleasure.

"Every day I walk out into the world to be dazzled, then to be reflective." Mary Oliver

Morning Birds

I'm in the garden watching the morning parade at the feeders beginning with the most regal, the Great Northern Flicker who prefers to eat alone and then along comes the Downy, the Hairy and the marvelous Red-Bellied--all woodpeckers and all quite a joyous sight. Through the woodpeckers dart the Black-capped Chickadees and a bit later the Purple House Finch, Goldfinch and English Sparrow as the Pigeon and Cardinal eat the fallen ground seed. It is like watching a movie in our back garden. For a moment the 100 degree days and drought can be forgotten by the reality of this moment in our Kansas City Garden.

A new day begins

There are stories in the news that bring even the hard-hearted to a pause of sorrow, but the new day begins as it always does. Last week I had surgery that reflected to my mind the accident of a year ago. Thank goodness the new day came. Two weeks ago I experienced what happens when a stop sign is not seen and my car was side-swiped by another car that was driven by a nice man. We then went on to take care of our insurance claims, our cars, our bodies and our minds as new days continued to dawn. Last night Chuck and I were snug in our warm bed reading stories on our eReaders when Jack peed on our bed--a soaking heavy absorbing noxious cat pee. This was followed  by midnight showers as the overloaded washing machine churned and groaned. I now write and look through a frosty November window as Jack, in cat-like nonchalance, sleeps and warms my side in the always-ness of this new day.