listen to frogs
watch it rain
feel the breeze
answer the owl
sip red wine
read a book
sing favorite songs
dance alone
imagine
dream

listen to frogs
watch it rain
feel the breeze
answer the owl
sip red wine
read a book
sing favorite songs
dance alone
imagine
dream

he flew to my side
smiled
then scuttled behind
Frida Kahlo



Horses fed
Thunder
Lightning
Silence
Thunder
Downpour
Sunset
Beauty
Late summer
Evening





Today at the bookstore browsing, I picked up a book nestled among the magazines.
This question appeared on page 41: “If you were given a book on the story of your life,
would you read the end?”
I asked my grandson. He immediately said, “No!”
I wonder.
Remain unsure.
If I read it, could I change it?
Are lives predetermined, choiceless?
Are we unwittingly predetermined and just victims?
If I read it, could I change it?
Eat something different,
sing a varied song,
laugh more,
spend more time with sunsets, sunrises,
read less, more,
love someone new,
say words now lost,
write a contrary story,
choose an opposing path,
challenge?



Stillness
Golden light
Birdsong
Sunset
Peace


A habit I acquired years ago, perhaps even during my childhood, is reading just before I go to sleep. Picking the right books remains key unless you want to stay up half the night either reading or thinking about something horrifying or depressing you’ve read. Lately, my reading has not been conducive to sweet dreams. Earlier this week I finished Among the Ruins, an Iranian mystery of sorts, by Ausma Zehanat Khan. It’s fiction but one of the characters writes letters from prison which are anything but cheery. Now I am reading the Pulitzer Prize winner, The Return. Since Hisham Matar never saw his father again after he was captured and hauled off to a Libyan prison, sleep inducing it is not. Last night I decided perhaps for bedtime I needed to find something not exactly boring but somewhat less stimulating. It may take me all summer given that The Silk Roads, A New History of the World by Peter Frankopan is 505 pages. If I get bored with that, I can go back to two books I reread off and on and save for bedtime reading, When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams and Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz, Selected Works translated by Edith Grossman. Both inspire reflection and contemplation. For those who do not know Sor Juana Ines De La Cruz, she lived in Mexico in the 1600s. She became famous for her intellectual capacity, her poetry, and was referred to as “the Phoenix of Mexico” when women rarely rose to such heights.
What are you reading this summer?
“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, you owe me. A love like that lights the whole sky.”
Hafiz


I wrote the first blog post about this in February, a second a few weeks later. The following poem I wrote a week ago but never posted: too upset, too sad, too filled with regrets I could have no way fixed because I did not even know all the story. He remained unconscious for two months from late January until March 22. It seems strange that the memories of a life I lived so long ago, mostly forgotten, could surge into so many waking moments now years later. Life: always filled with wonder, surprises.
yesterday we put his body in the ground
the wind blew through the trees
whispering green spring, beauty
yesterday we put his body in the ground
the man I loved, beautiful mahogany velvet
dazzled the world with his smile
yesterday we put his body in the ground
my daughter’s father, standing with family
some we had never seen before, worldwide
yesterday we put his body in the ground
watched a life flash by, slides from baby
to our life long ago, other lives and children
yesterday we put his body in the ground
family, friends, two of his children
a life struck down, too suddenly, too soon
In honor of the life of Kenneth A. Mowoe
You will not be forgotten, your memory lives on with me, your family, your children and grandchildren, your friends. Peace. Love.

dance by the light of the new moon
chant songs to shallow water
watch the eyes of horses, wolf frightened
obsidian, wide, eternal

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