Stuff

I have stuff.
As a wantabee hippy in the 60s,
I thought I could reduce
my belongings to what
would fit in a duffel bag.

I even included the provisions
for a darkroom, and jumped onto
a bus to Oregon.

Now, if I only had two of everything,
I would not feel so excessive.
Somehow I've acquired multiples of
multiples, and only their inventory
list would fit into the duffel bag.

If my brain remained a mirror image
of the simplicity of
that old army duffel bag,
I wouldn't be so alarmed.

But no, as I look at my piles of papers
and stacks of computer equipment,
video tapes, and books, I can't
help but think that my clutter
must be a reflection of my noodle —
a dead ringer for the serpents of Medusa's head.

Balls

Not all balls bounce
the same. Some just
land and go to sleep,
while others reach
for the sky when
they are dropped.

Some are kooky,
and bounce in a
unpredictable direction,
as if to not remember
from whence they came.

Others just bounce
a little, and settle
in for a long winter
nap.

We should expect to
tumble if we are
ever off the ground.
The question is not
whether we are going
to fall, but if and
how we are going to bounce.

Plane

Yesterday our plane took off
through the fog into the clouds,
limiting my view out the window
to a smoky white mist.

Before long,
we had passed through the clouds
and could see very clearly
a blanket of cotton
being ordained by the sunset.

As our altitude increased,
the texture of the blanket
became smoother,
and as the time progressed,
what was dusk became darkness,
and my illuminated world
morphed to the size and shape
of an airplane cabin.

I Live in a Fog Today

I live in a fog today,
with a radius of about two hundred feet.
Objects within my reach
are very clear, or so I think.
Objects farther away are
diminished in clarity dependent
on their distance.

They become desaturated
and middle gray, as opposed
to those close that are
saturated with a full
range of value and hue.

Unlike memory, where
distant images and
experiences can be
enhanced, in the fog
objects tend to follow
the scheme
according to their distance.

What Shall We Do?

What shall we do?

Where shall we go?

Where should we eat?

How about pizza — half price from 4-6?

Mr. Natural has an amazing buffet.

We could go there.

Not that many vegetarian restaurants in AUS.

Have you been to . . . ?

They have their own brand of BBQ.

Nothing vegan, though.

I used to live right around the corner from there.

I think you ought to go to Mr. Natural.

Did you go down and see town lake?

You wouldn't want to walk.

There are a couple of ways to do it.

Make a right on Red Run Hills.

Hard enough just for the two of us.

Lamar is the divider.

Go on Loop 1.

Get off on . . .

Go west . . .

Once you cross the river . . .

And there are some humongous houses.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Have we agreed on anything?

The Spiritual Athetist

I believe in angels, which might
make me a spiritual atheist, if
there is such a term.

Too many good things happen
to me to attribute
my good fortune to luck or skill.
People seem to be around
just when I need them.
People are willing
and able to give
just what I need.
People care what happens to me
as if it is a calling
embedded in their genes.

One of my goals is
to be an angel, maybe as a chance to payback,
and maybe because I like to help
things (and people) in need.

Sometimes people put multiple
locks on their doors to keep
out the angels. The trouble
with receiving charity is that
then you can't complain about
what you don't have, and, as
well, when you receive so many
gifts, you feel compelled to give
to others.

Contrast

Yesterday woke in STL
to come to AUS.

Now @ B & B,
sitting in the LR on an
easy chair facing

a little bronze cherub blowing
a trumpet. One leg is over a log
and, on the other, the knee
is brought up to the chest as
if needed to gather more strength
to welcome the day.

In the kitchen the hubby and his wife
whip a dozen eggs
for the quiche or omelet
that will be served on the white
tablecloth with fine china & crystal.

An idyllic world, contrasted
to all the other earthly worlds,
also orchestrated by g_d's mysterious
ways, that are laden with varieties
of suffering.

My thoughts of these other worlds,
where little girls do not blow their
horns, is quickly drowned out
by the intoxicating breakfast aromas
coming from the K in the B & B in AUS.