Hello friends! A Sunday afternoon post here. I am freshly showered and feel cool and clean and it is truly delightful, especially after the last hour I spent outside sweating vigorously in the glorious steam bath that is our weather here in June just now. Not sure why I’ve been in such a walking mood lately, but that’s now two walks for the day. Went for my usual Sunday walk immediate upon waking this morning. The sun wasn’t quite peeking over the trees yet still the humidity bid me a hearty hello. But I did love the walk and it did me good before I eventually came back and had my pre-church coffee and reading time. Then this past hour? I could have and probably should have just sat down and enjoyed the cool of the flat this Sunday afternoon. Instead for some reason I was itching to move and be outside and so I went out and let my legs stride on. A little 3 mile walk, ho hum. But it was good. Chatted with Earnie on the phone the whole time, which was glorious indeed. It has been oh so long since we’ve had a proper chat and it was very much encouraging to my soul. Now? I think reading time approaches. Candle is already lit and flickering on the table and soon I shall turn on some music. No more World Cup games on right now, alas!! I have been much enjoying all the World Cup action lately. Group stages which means multiple games every day and it’s just fantastic! The US team (surprisingly somehow) played a very adequate opener game against Paraguay. 4-1 and 3 points, hurrah! On to Australia. Yesterday Dani and I went went down with Angela and Lauren to a downtown bar that was swarmed with Brasilians and we cheered on Brasil with all our might. Alas they managed only a draw against Morocco. Well, Morocco is a strong team. Or at least that’s what we keep telling ourselves. And last night, Scotland grabbed 3 points against Haiti!! Oh Scotland let’s go!!! Though I don’t have high hopes of them going deep (especially with Brasil & Morocco both in their group), I’m hoping they make it to knockouts. We shall see. But that’s enough football talk for now I suppose. I do love the World Cup though and it makes me so happy that we have so many games upcoming these next few weeks!! Even today, there was a game actually played in Houston! (Germany vs. Curacao) Just wish the ticket prices were slightly less expensive. Ah well. Now I’m off for real. Sorry for all the rambling, maybe I shall write something more substantial in a bit. Peace and love, my friends.
Tag: nature
Harp Song
Silver water slides underneath the bridge and I feel an urgent desire to shed my shirt and shoes and jump right in. Usually I can push off mad thoughts such as this but not this time. Off comes my shirt and off come my shoes and I climb over the railing and balance on the lip of the bridge. I stretch my back and legs and then push slowly up once as I hold on loosely to the rail behind. The sun beats hot upon my head and I feel the sweat begin to trickle down my neck. The swift water below looks absolutely delicious. I once more slowly press down upon the bridge with my toes and then I force myself past the point of no return and off I leap. The water rushes toward me as my stomach leaps in protest as I have a half second to wonder if I’ve perhaps made a mistake. Never mind! My feet hit the water and my flailing arms and head soon follow. Ah I am cool and I am washed and oh boy is it cold! I immediately splutter to the surface even as I feel the water rush me onwards. I let it. I’m floating backwards and can’t quite see where I’m going but I know the river runs straight for a good half mile at least and I’m not overly concerned of stray rowboats. So I lie back and let the waters carry me on as I feel the sun smile down upon me. Its warmth feels good now. I am a part of the river and the river is a part of me and together we in unison dance with the sky above and the breeze that leaps between. It is a good dance, a rollicking affair. I am not at all mad about my choice, no matter what Madeleine may say later on. Up on that bridge I was a remote observer, standing upon concrete and mind elsewhere. Now? I am living true as the river carries me on. My mind is in the moment and present and oh so focused on the fact that I am in this river and I am breathing fresh air and I feel cold and hot at the same time and it is glorious and I hear creation’s song.
Fits and Starts
Sidewalk strolls seldom feel entirely purposeless when the sky so shyly smiles as she does presently. Involuntarily I smile and lift my head up in silent prayer. It is good to sing a new song this day. Puddles abound and the birds chirp. The earth has been freshly washed and the bayou runs high and I marvel at the many waters flowing underneath my feet. The bridge bounces as past me runs another who loves the early mornings. The sky’s face is veiled behind a thin layer of clouds. Some would say this early morning grey is a bit of a dull affair especially when the air has chilled so. I would beg to differ. There is a special kind of beauty in early morning sky when the predominant colours are soft grey and pale gold. My heart sings in harmony with the notes of this new day. I close my eyes and lean over the bridge and let my imagination run afore me as I ponder the now and not yet and think on all that is to come when I am truly home. I open my eyes and see in the far distance the skyline rising through the fog. There is a shimmer or sort of sparkle as a ray of sun bounds through. And my eyes change color too. From grey to green they progress in the light of morning’s fullness.
Three Steps to Summer
A late afternoon has crept upon me and I find myself somehow surprised that it already has ticked near on 5pm. It is a simply gorgeous spring day here even if a bit warmer than I would desire. The sun still shines overhead and the breeze ruffles my shirt and reminds me that summer is not yet here. I almost let this afternoon slip away, drowsing away the weariness at home. Yet…upon looking outside and seeing the day blazing brilliant blue, how could I stay indoors? And so on go the shoes, with book and laptop tossed in backpack and away I went. It’s been a while since I’ve done the afternoon EQ walk. And though it isn’t quite EQ anymore – not sure I will ever be used to calling it Caffvino – it is lovely to sit here on the porch once more and enjoy the steady hum of the conversations round about. The music layers on and then also the traffic sounds are omnipresent as one may guess. I do find myself amused at the music playlist choices. While at one time it was punk and rock and emo angst, now…well, sounds more like hipster-folk-core or some such. Sounds like music one might listen to as they drive the mountain roads, camping gear slung on top. Definitely not the music of EQ of old.
Now what shall my fingers dance on to talk about? I suppose I might further share the loveliness of the day and chronicle my morning. I woke up later than typical but it was still early enough to enjoy a walk before the sun had fully risen above the horizon. A quick cup of coffee was brewed into my little to-go cup and onward I walked – MKT trail as is proper of a morning. Oh how beautiful sang the day! It was just cool enough that I relished the warm sips of coffee I would take from time to time and yet just warm enough to make me think of springtime. And speaking of springtime…as I walked down the trail, I caught a whiff of loveliness and stopped of a sudden. Could it be? And yes it was. The first scent of jasmine of spring. Always a delight and it will never not be one of my favourite moments of the year. I looked to my right and saw the very first delicate blooms of jasmine on the hedge that ran along the trail. How could my heart not sing? Ah how I love the jasmine flower and the memories that come with! With renewed joy I walked further down the trail down to the bridge, the spot from which many times I have stopped and thought and mused and prayed and this day I let my eyes dance as they gazed upon the bayou stretching towards downtown and the far-off buildings that seemed as dwarfs under the eastern sky. The sun now said hello in full and shimmered in a friendly manner and reminded me that a lovely day was at hand. I walked back and let my eyes rest upon the construction work that some may call a blight yet I find a treasure. The old buildings with the faded “COMPANY REFINERY” upon the side are now being renewed once more, the faded bricks glorified as the new windows are fitted and the surrounding ground turned over in preparation for what is to come – unknown to me yet I hope perhaps for something more than a retail park or office spaces. We shall see. Yet it gives me joy to see buildings not torn down and tossed asunder but renewed and made to rise again in splendour. I walked past the construction site and soon enough found myself almost home. I stopped to stretch and laughed to myself at how good my legs felt in the process. Does this mean my legs are not quite as young as they used to be that I find such pleasure in the perfect feeling of completion that comes after a proper stretch? Perhaps, perhaps. I have been accused of not looking as young as I used to, after all. Later on in the day, I would receive a comment from someone who had not seen me in a while remarking upon my salt and pepper hair. Well, I will not deny that my years have crept up upon me. And I will in that acknowledgement look up to heaven and say a prayer and praise my God for all that He has granted me. This has been a good day. It has been a day that I have been reminded that even as I turn towards sunset there is a far country that calls my name.
A Rose For Your Thoughts
It’s lovely to walk through the old graveyard this day. Sometimes at night, it’s hard for one to see the beauty of a place full of crumbled stones and dying flowers, even though I believe I could write another essay on why nighttime graveyard walks are no less full of magic. But today, let me focus. Let me set the scene and see if perhaps I can place you there so you can see for yourself.
You walk up to the wrought-iron gate and put your hand upon it. It is warm, though the sun is not shining directly on it now. You look to the right and then to the left and see there is not another soul to be seen as far as the eye can see. Of course that calls to your mind the thought of the departed souls for which this graveyard stands in silent testimony.
There are more modern facilities these days of course for the housing of the dead. More and more people, for various reasons that make sense to you, are deciding that cremation is an option to be chosen. And of course there are those who feel a tinge of distaste on thinking of laying one’s loved ones in the ground surrounded by the bones of strangers. A graveyard is no longer a communal resting place which contains the stories and histories of a community now long past. For there are no longer many who can tell these stories. And history is fickle, for so little remains of the personal tales once two or three generations have passed. So at the end of the day? A graveyard can look from the outside as if it just a place for dusty stones and crumbling flowers, a monument to the futility of life.
But now? You breathe deep in the winter afternoon and smell the fresh scent of pine. The air is cold of course, but not so cold that your flannel shirt cannot handle it. Instead, you welcome the light of the fading sun upon your uplifted face and close your eyes in quiet meditation. You have still not opened the gate for you are allowing yourself a moment. Perhaps it is time. You swing open the gate and enter in.
You walk slowly down the central path, allowing your feet to veer off to the right underneath some overhanging branches that seem to welcome you in to a warm embrace. The path is merely beaten down dirt, no cement or concrete here. Leaves are strewn across and you welcome the sound of the crunch your feet makes as you walk. And of course, pine needles everywhere. You welcome the lack of destination this walk demands. There is no one waiting for you. There is no appointment at the end which desires your focus or concentration. Instead, you simply allow your feet to wander where they will. The further back you walk, the smaller and more faded the stones appear. There are stories here, epics even. You see a grouping of stones together and wonder which family they represent, for the engravings are now all but gone. Leaves curl about the stones and there is a ray of light slanted across two of them, highlighting the light grey, whispering of pale stories told around the fireplace. You continue on and make your way to the rear of the graveyard, where the oldest and largest tree holds court. Its roots sprawl comfortably about the autumn grass. You decide to take a moment. Or perhaps two or three or ten. And you sit down in one of the most comfy looking crooks of the tree’s roots and snuggle in the leaves that have also made their home there. You allow your gaze to sweep across the breadth of the graveyard that lies before you. There is a faded majesty lit by the light of the December sun and you sigh in wonder that you have been granted a glimpse that makes your heart ache for longing. There is a quiet anticipation that hangs in the stillness, an unresolved air that makes you tilt your head slightly and wonder. A leaf drifts down and kisses you on the cheek.
Tidbits
A lovely Thanksgiving morning here. Slept in past 630am, which is almost unheard of these days. Showered, got the coffee going. And then although usually I would sit in my cozy corner chair and have my quiet time, could I pass up an early morning Thanksgiving walk when it’s as glorious outside as it is? A beautiful 48 degrees when I stepped outside, coffee mug in hand. Down the street I went and then meandered my way down the MKT trail heartily enjoying the fresh crisp air, breathing deep and feeling gloriously vibrantly alive. I confess I don’t enjoy many things more than an early morning walk in the cold, sipping fresh hot coffee as I go. And there’s something about the early morning walks that bring out the best in people. Usually when I walk this trail, though the people watching is superb, one doesn’t address people as they pass. But early morning times feel special, as if we are all part of a private club that knows these times are the best times to be out and about and walking and that everyone else is missing out, really. So down the trail I walk, exchanging smiles and good mornings with the people I pass. There are many joggers of course, and a few dog-walkers (like the young mom and child that I pass as they let their dog sniff and take his time) but there are also walkers like me, enjoying the excuse to wear a warm hoodie and walk down the trail this lovely Thanksgiving morning. Eventually I reached my usual turning point and I turned around and began walking back home. I was stunned anew by the beauty I saw above and around me, seeing the leftovers of the sunrise strewn across the eastern sky. Homeward now! No less beautiful was this leg of the walk even though now my heart felt full to bursting. Prayers were said and more smiles were exchanged with the walkers that I passed. Soon enough, my legs found their way back inside the house, where somehow the apartment had done such a good job holding its residual heat that I felt I was stepping inside an oven! A 20-degree differential will do that, I suppose.
Now I finish the remnants of my coffee and think it’s time to brew another cup. Soon enough the Dani will wake and then we will begin to think of walk round 2. But for now, I will enjoy the flickering candle on the table, the Tchaikovsky playing in the background and soon a book upon the lap and a hot mug in my hand. I have oh so many things to be thankful for this day.
Curtain Falls
Storms roll in on the tide of weekend dreams. Sufficiently pretentious opening line aside, I do marvel at the fury promised by the cloudbank that peers at me over the horizon. I wish I could stay a moment to linger and watch the trees around me welcome the storm as they all lift their hands and celebrate its arrival but alas my feet are not planted quite as deep and firm as their roots and so I must away and fleet to home sweet home where shelter awaits. Oh part of me wishes to throw my hands up wide as well and feel the first winds of the advance guard buffet my shirt with their hearty embrace. Even to feel the sheets of rain fall around me and drench me entirely with the bounty of the heavens would not be a bad thing, for the storm is a clean thing, mighty in its power and joyous in all the clamor that it creates. Lift up a new song this day, ye heavens and even now shout aloud ye earth! This storm that so many cower from as they peer at their small bright screens and tap in disbelief that happy hour plans should be so rudely inconvenienced – it laughs and shakes its fists in hearty disapprobation at your antics. But as for me? My soul strains to escape the gravity of this plane and rise to higher heavens to shout aloud with angels at the mystery that is merely hinted at by the chaos of this storm that all earthly intelligence – artificial and otherwise – fails to truly grasp. See how the stars peer down and marvel at the beauty of the approaching thunderheads. Alas but I cannot see them. I look up and sigh for I cannot see the stars any longer. The last dark clouds roll overhead and thunder whispers it is time. I spread my arms to the heavens. Take me away with you and let me witness the purity of your wrath! For a second I stagger. It is stronger than I expect and then I blink as in an instant I am wet to the skin and feel the water pouring off me. I open my eyes and gaze up into the heart of the storm. Lightning flashes in golden chorus and my heart beats the rhythm of the rain. Oh sing with me this night my dear comrades, sing this anthem of creation’s might! I hasten to sing though my voice is drowned out by the angels. I am grateful that I have a front row seat this evening to the grand old show. Thank you for this opportunity, my good sir. It is very good for us to be here.
Teatime
I have been trying to write winter poetry and failing miserably. Alas it is not to be this night. Hence I switch to prose, the last resort of the poet who refuses to believe his muse is dead. Or temporarily incapacitated. One hopes only temporarily. But sometimes the fire burns within and one simply must write or else he feels as if his soul will crumple in on itself like a big ball of wadded up notebook paper that is scrunched so tight that it may yet yield to the tendency to become a black hole. Yes, that is the correct feeling, finally put in words to burn in their very temporal state. But where was I? Ah yes, talking of poetry and poets and their unsurprising failures. As for me, switching to prose often feels like a defeat, yet I long to snatch victory from its jaws yet. I too am a shepherd boy – or at least I attempt to model myself after one such – and so I too can fiercely extricate this prized lamb from the lion’s jaws. Scratch that last. Dreadful metaphor, quite mixed in theme and usage. To continue. Sometimes prose pieces are fun, sometimes they turn out dreadful too. This one feels whimsical and experimental enough, I am actually somewhat pleased. It amuses me, I will allow it to live. Oh how merciful am I. Now for the piece at hand.
I really did mean to write some winter poetry as I just returned from a lovely walk on this January evening. Finally my humble southern state has been blessed with weather that feels like winter. Temperature in the mid-40s and a nice dry air and a stunning sunset to boot? What have I done to be blessed with such beauty? Well, nothing of course. It’s not all about me. Instead, the glory belongs to another. Musings such as this rolled around in my head as I walked down the sidewalk in my little neighborhood. I thought of the interplay of the small neighborhood with the sky above. The small old houses seem so feeble when compared with the majesty of a winter sunset sky. The clouds stretch up and up, set on fire by the last triumphal notes of the setting sun. The trees contribute a chorus, their branches finally shed of their overly ragged autumnal garments. The branches stretch up and out and contrast nicely against the blues and purples and oranges. But the houses? They seem a bit timid and bashful, their structures not at all suited to be seen in company with the artistry of heaven. An outlier though? The power lines. The power lines start on poles which masquerade nicely as slender wintry trees…and then the lines swoop gracefully, firm and delicate and subtle all at the same time as they highlight the brilliant colours of the twilight. Seeing the power lines hug the sky just as I hug my own arms to myself – well, it brings me a cosy satisfaction. I find delight in the way the mundane creations of this world complement the creations of the one who existed before this world began. It is a thrill to think on such and imagine that just as the power lines point to something greater, so too am I privileged to rest my eyes on the fires of heaven and sing praises to the one on high. Am I also allowed to compliment this moment as my figure somehow complements this scene in which I walk? What does it look like, this frail and faded creation walking on the sidewalk this winter night? Am I too allowed to be thought of as the mundane that points to the beautiful a bit beyond my mortal sight? My temporal hand stretches forth to the eternal. The power lines continue to vibrate in holy tension and I sigh. The sliver of dusk shivers in anticipation of resurrection glories and the waxing starlight sings of a story not yet done. The book is written and the ending sure. But for now, turn one page at a time. Faithfully I read on, now a candle lit beside me as I let my mind slip back to the present. Yet still I remember the stark beauty of that cold and perfect winter sunset sky.
A Wind in the Door
Happy Friday, friends!!! I’m much enjoying my peppermint mocha this gorgeous day. Even though summer fast approaches with all the heat it can carry, today it feels simply amazing outside. It was storming as I sat inside reading…the crackling sound of thunder and bright lightning flashes reminded me of how much I do love thunderstorms(when I’m inside that is!). And as I walked into work this morning, the storm had passed. Only a few wisps of clouds passed across the sky and the moon shone down soft upon me. A breeze kissed my cheek and I looked up to the fading stars and it was indeed beautiful. And now I must be off. A full day of work to dominate and then off to Dallas to see Mikaela. A wonderful weekend awaits!! And as I think on how much I am blessed, before anything else, I bow my head and thank my God. Indeed, does my heart sing to Him. Forever and always. Peace and love, dear friends.
Messiah
Good evening, my friends!
The light is slowly fading here in Houston and I say goodbye to a lovely Saturday. It’s been a grey day here…but somehow that accentuated the beauty all the more. Clouds scudding before the wind and autumnal leaves dancing across the city pavement and the kiss of the winter light upon the earth. And as I drove around this day, I couldn’t help but think of the God who made it all. And now I listen to Handel’s Messiah as I write this, firmly convinced it’s one of the greatest pieces of music ever composed. Surely it is my favorite piece, that I cannot deny. In a little bit, I’m going to start getting dinner ready…going to be a delicious vegetable and bean soup(carrots, celery, onion, tomatoes, beans, etc….), recipe graciously passed to me by Dad! A perfect warm meal for a winter evening. Maybe I’ll even write a bit of something? I can always hope! Peace, my dear friends.
Something Weird 