Slowing down.

May 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

Near the center of a small park, near the center of a sprawling city, behind tall tufts of new grass, the undersides of the petals of English daisies are edged in fuchsia.

Goodness, and what else do we miss when we don’t let ourselves slow down?



On loss.

March 22, 2013 § Leave a comment

This night has emptied the world
of everything, save the shadows
and the glinting reflected light
of the falling snow.
Save the sound my footfalls
and my thoughts of you.

You all had such courage
such vision and such drive.

I had only a heart that ached
in all the incommunicable lives I lived within me,

and I had you
and that was enough.
You filled a world and made it home.


February 20, 2013 § Leave a comment

I wasn’t prepared for the overhanging grey of the Berlin winter. We have an ebb and flow of warmth and chill but the clouds will not be pierced.

As a pedestrian, I’ve been almost thankful for the grey, which draws the eye to the light below the sky. This is a city overflowing with shops — they spill out of the buildings and run into one another on the sidewalks.

As I walked home today, I watched a fruit vendor carefully stack pflaumen behind a bastille of oranges and mangoes.
Down the street, a rug-maker threaded a thick needle, sitting comfortably cross-legged on a pile of carpets stacked twenty deep.
Beyond a window filled with pretty striped envelopes and ribbons, a lady cut dotted cloth with even strokes of large, silver scissors.
A gentlemen with fingers stained in ink or grease rapidly sketched something in a book, surrounded by a shop full of small goods he’d fixed — children’s bicycles, watches, a copper teakettle.

I see these things and want brazenness of a photographer; but I’m glad at least for a glance that’s more discreet but still quite keen.

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