Thursday, September 9, 2021


         I am lucky to be part of a very imaginative universe. Indeed, it’s impossible to comprehend the magnitude and vastness of  its inventiveness. Each moment today – for every person, animal, object, and action – will be an ingenious and brand-new creation.  Winds will blow in original ways, sunshine will show its glories in unconventional ways, and breath will enter my lungs in always whimsical ways. Every step I take with my 79-year-old legs will be an act of absolute brilliance, as artistic as the first toddling steps of a child. Flowers in Delycia’s garden today will wave and bend with finesse, as always, and squirrels will bounce and skip across trees with astuteness. It will be a day of originality for stars and planets and schools and meadows and old, retired teachers, one of whom just turned his head with absolute resourcefulness. 


He's a construction worker,
but he's also a serious song writer.
He writes songs because songs are stored
inside his modest life
and spring out unannounced.
His jobs are not easy at the sites,
but he knows his life
is actually a cushion to rest on,
even when the work is the hardest.
As he measures and fastens,
he settles back on his thoughts
and the songs start
launching themselves superbly,
his flourishing melodies that love to fly.
His tools seem to loosen up
in his hands as he's working.
A whimsical screwdriver twists
like its listening to something.
A saw sings as the harmonious house arises.

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