The fog — so thick this morning
I choose to walk another time.
I fear that golf carts
might careen into my space
before I have a chance to dodge.
Those carts are prevalent here.
Not all their drivers
are alert, it seems to me.
And not all the other vehicles
that chose to travel in the dawn
are equipped with caution.
I doubt the roadside bombs
so prevalent in other places
will hinder my advances
but I think of them sometimes
when I walk across the road
now laden with excuses
to defer this morning’s venture.
With hand on ear
they walk into the grocery store .
With hand on ear
they walk into the bank.
With hand on ear
they walk into the beauty shop.
With hand on ear
they exit from the grocery store.
With hand on ear
they exit from the bank.
With hand on ear
they exit from the beauty shop.
I watch them come and go
with hand on ear .
I don’t know what they hear
with hand on ear.
It never used to be this way.
When
I saw the moon
hanging on a cloud
as it set in the west
it looked like
it didn’t want to
to drop into the horizon.
I think it hung on
for fear of letting go.
And if it hesitated
I understand.
Over Lake Sunset
lay a blanket of fog
with its edges conforming
exactly to the shoreline.
It looked soft
and as inviting as
the nicest cover of a bed.
I was tempted
to check out its allure
and drew as close as I could get
without my getting wet.
I knew it would not hold me
but it so seemed that it would
that for a time
my common sense
vied with desire.
Fortunately the wind came up
and blew away temptation.
Where I grew up
we had a black beach
and a white one.
When I was in the military
we had black barracks
and white ones.
In the early 60’s
I preached in a black church.
In the same town
I met Martin Luther King.
We elected a black president.
Where I live
are all kinds of people.
Awhile back my first daughter
married an Indian.
Sometimes sadness leaves
like a sun set fading in the west.
Sometimes it’s more swift to exit –
like a light turned off.
Or it may fade so slowly
we’ll be unaware entirely
and may even try to find it
This is true of gladness, too.
Both of these consume
our hearts excursions
wandering around beneath our minds
and often shaping what we think.
Sadness and gladness are strands
woven into the fabric of our lives
and when we are old, if we get to be so
we can look back and see the weaving.
The pebble
may have been there
in my sneaker
before I started walking
on a chilly morning.
But it did not
make its presence known
until I was well along
the road I often take
I thought it might work its way
to a place less invasive
but it insisted on being known
and even seemed to grow larger
as I tried ignoring it.
I began to hope
that I could make it home
before tending to its extrication
from my sock.
There were no nearby benches –
nor even any nearby grass.
I was at last forced to yield
and I knelt on the road’s edge
to tend to this intruder.
I was so focused on the NOW
that Buddha would be proud of me.
So, the New Year
has been unraveling
and you and me with it.
So, how has it been for you?
Some of us
in it
feel ancient.
The worst part
for some of us
is the news
that another friend
has disappeared
beyond the veil
which guards so well
the secret of the passages
that all of us
will make some day.
Her shadow was as long as I am tall
and mine was like a giant
stretching on the grass beside her.
I tried to show the little one
how her shadow looked beside mine
but she wasn’t interested
and too young to understand.
As we grew longer
across the blades of grass
I wondered when she would wonder
about the motions of the earth
that can fascinate us
even on an ordinary day.
