…
Riding my bike down a tunnel near a stream. Another bike comes up beside mine. It leans into my path. I veer closer to the stream. It cuts into me. I fall into the stream. The bike rider is a baby elephant. A lost baby elephant.
I tread back, with bike in tow, towards the beginning of the tunnel in order to climb out of the stream. It’s going to take a while. I’ve forgotten how long I happen to have been biking in the tunnel. And the baby elephant, it needs to be taken care of.
Went skiing with Brian. It was a pretty good time.
I tried some of the black diamond hills… umm, glad I made it down alive, but it wasn’t that bad.
We ended up finding a great hill “the sidewinder” pointed out by a veteran skier. Made a poem out of it.
We happened to go the evening that did there own winter Olympic’s opening ceremony. Just as we were deciding to call it a day we walked out and into the preparations for it. It would take place at sunset. We got to talk to the organizer and cameraman beforehand. The organizer alluded to the person who wanted to do it on a bit of a whimsy and build the 1 story torch device with his special knowledge of pyrotechnics. The cameraman was a laid back victim of circumstance of duty. Long lines of volunteer skiers holding torches from various hills took a long, peaceful time getting down their hills. Once they all got down, the main torch was lit.
Overheard:
“You suck the fun out of everything: Funsucker!!”
“Monica, overcome your fears!” (In a tone implying she should be excused from braving it) “I already did.”
–––––––
I blow upon your pinwheel soul The cattails bunch and swoon gently, easy The lone sailor upon your vast lake delights in his full sail The clouds hurry across the sky The mountaintops receive the lightest touch of icy precipitation Meanwhile, the fish swim, pondering your depths, undisturbed
–––––––
Oh, Joy! My broken piñata heart
Black forest creek churning neath your roots encircling me with your lofty reach toward the heavens the lavender cloth of the universe revealing your tender touch the high–vaulted ceiling of your branches wreathed in the fairy–lights of the cosmos
–––––––
Upon the advice of the sage
Who under–valued himself
I followed my instincts
to my grandparents’ graves
The largest orange ball I ever saw
lingered, staring, sunsetless on the horizon
I found myself in a vast tundra
snow anonymizing the headstones
and realized I would never find them
I found myself amid the shrubbery
Gazing at a statue
Some ode to summer
I first thought of Daphne
the cruel beckoning of innocence
Her regal repose, fully human
rump reclining atop a vined column
a jump–rope of flora in her hands
changed all that
I thought of Fragonard
Where snow buries graves
Here, it was petals of the season
accentuating her flowers
As white stone escaped
from the black barnacles of time
in spectacular bare shoulders
and graceful arms
Oh, gorgeous stomach
Oh, flowing, robust curves
Oh, folds, enfold me in every part
Oh, neck, throbbing with life
whose pronounced crook
speaks the truth
take me
Walking from home to ??, I come into a neighbor’s yard. There’s a pleasant, blond, young mother and a couple of her children in the yard. Also here are some dressed-up monkeys they are playing with.
The humans’ gestures welcome me to interact with them. I gingerly acquaint myself with the a monkey or two. One of the monkeys bite me. I smart for a second. The mother nonchalantly approaches me.
“That will be $25,” she says. She points to a sign posted on the house.
| Monkey Bites | |
|---|---|
| Nip | $5 |
| Nibble | $10 |
| Bite | $25 |
I reluctantly accept this. The mom escorts me across the small yard to a small guest house/office. There, a brunette young lady, perhaps a college student paid a low wage for this job, proceeds to ring up and ask for 25 dollars.
Embarrassed, I dip into my wallet and fish out a 20 and 5. I hand it over.
As I’m leaving the little hut I find myself starting to say “Scam.” The brunette gives me the evil eye. She threatens me.
“Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam,” I repeat, louder and louder.
I feel the neighborhood has been alerted to me. I realize the whole neighborhood is in on it. Little golden-haired boys with large water-pistols petal on their bikes in a desperate attempt to stop me.
“Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam. Scam.”
–––––––
Went to Rock Creek Park. Took my bike on the metro. It was nice to see the snow on the rocks in the creek. Nice big creek. Good to see dogs off leash and having a good time scampering next to the river. Biked past the police station on Branch Road.
Took a walk next to the river. It was fun to see the animal tracks in the snow. Raccoon tracks? Maybe just squirrel tracks. Larger tracks. Maybe just dog tracks. Then the tracks went onto and across a nice big bark-less fallen tree: Raccoon tracks.
Got up the nerve to go onto the tree. I stepped on and proceeded slowly — shuffle, shuffle — half-inch by half-inch. It only felt right until I was dead in the middle. Looked onto the river coming down for a while. Turned, hmm, looks pretty good. Slowly turned and looked at the sun-laden river flowing away from me, various eddies swirling near and further down stream. Nice.
Then I knew the moment had passed and the journey was over. Took forthright steps off the log.
I so wanted to give you all the stars in the deep night sky Those stars God’s already given you
On a lark
found myself
in that dark secret restaurant
no one goes to
I’ll take the soup of the day
my vain attempt to avoid
extravagance
And desert to say farewell
to another lovely person
Yes, I would like fresh ground pepper
to give the soup some kick
“’O sole mio” belting out into
the well–appointed empty room
Spinach–lobster soup
Hearty and delicate
Plenty of bread with which to dip
And something in its craftsmanship
Some hidden source of quality
Slows me
I shift gears
Look upon the playing of traffic
lights refracting through the beveled glass
Lose myself gazing at the Christmas
light–encircled tree
And savor
Dip, dip, dip
Savor
Reflect
Gaze
Dip
Spoon
A bit of lightheadedness
some garrulous fullness overtakes me
This happens on rare occasions
unexpectedly in exotic places
That restaurant in Quebec when
I became giddy
I try to talk to the waiter
as he is about to remove my bowl
Three times I work my mouth
before I get the words out
Chocolate sauce for the vanilla pudding with raspberries?
They accommodate me with a delicate dribble
of chocolate syrup over raspberry sauce
atop a ridiculously small mound of pudding
and four raspberries
Still overcome by the soup I wait
Allowing more minutes and traffic to pass
till I gently approach the plate
I carve out one small sliver and
Bomb out in its astonishing taste
So, time stands still
nibble by nibble
Each spoonful an era
Regaling in the comradery of each wafting aria
And cherish every bit
What are those sparkling specks?
Perhaps some pixie dust laced in it
Now, making it a stranger place,
My lips start tingling ten seconds after each taste
Is this what life is
So jam–packed with goodness
that each tiny sliver is a world of foolishness?
The timeless moment drags on
Confound it; I can’t finish this song
I’m too full —
Not another bite —
Please wrap it up and goodnight
–––––––