Writing by the Dying Light of the Afternoon

The stillness of the afternoon

Is broken only by the music

Emanating from next door

Music that seems as much a part of nature

As the birdsong in the trees

A dog barks across the way

Our windchimes speak to each other

A car beeps

And all seems profoundly quiet

Barbeques and campfires

Travel past my nose

A morning dove coos

I am here

The soundscape that surrounds me

Makes up my life this afternoon

Alone, in the silence,

I sit with peace of mind

The dying light

As the sun begins to set

Casts long shadows on the table

In front of me

Still the gentle wind blows

Carrying me through my life

Wherever I may go

Never roots too deep

That prevent me from moving on

For moving on is what I do

Day after day after lifetime

Traveling wherever I feel led

Wherever I feel needed

Not even this canvas hammock

Hanging between two beams of the house

Could keep me here

For I am destined to wander

Destined to leave

The road not traveled by me

Will take me far away

For I know not where I’m going

Tossed by the waves of the sea

My little lifeboat reels in fear

At the ever-crashing crests

Yet life is just a journey

Led wherever I will go

The birdsong fades down quieter

A single chirrup sung

This notebook, the pen

Me and You

All here together and waiting

Moving On

The rain falls

Car beeps

Nighttime again

The only sound is the ticking of the clocks

Counting down less than a million seconds

Until the parting of ways

And eternity

Whenever the wind blows

I think of Starry Night

And artists in the rain

How the streetlamps reflect in the water

Covering the roads

Like a million tiny stars fallen to earth

And a symphony

Written for two sets of windchimes

And a barking dog

Set to the metronome of ticking clocks

The night is silent and alone, like many people

Yet wrapped in a cocoon of stillness

I hardly feel the pounding future

Words like rivers march before me

Poems and prayers that are my guides

Into this vast unknown

What goes before me to test the waters

Those who have come before

To see the world from a new set of eyes

And ears to hear

The seconds slipping away

And silence arriving to take their place

I stand on the edge, looking behind

At the misty light of morning

Still hearing the wind rush by

And I wait

In one hand, the cue ball

Awaiting the perfect shot

Portrait of My Father

I see him from the kitchen window

As I pour myself a cup of coffee

He walks back and forth across the yard

Picking something up here,

Laying down an old foam mat there

The jump rope’s rhythm as it hits the ground--

Whack whack whack--

Each rotation measured out precisely

The sound echoes through our open doors and windows

After an afternoon spent playing Tetris

He forgoes his non-alcoholic beverage

To begin a new exercise routine

But as I watch him twirling a rope,

Caught in a window of concentration,

I know just as well as he does

That this will not last

Transported back to his youth

By the 80’s music on the speakers

My father takes advantage of the warm night

To try and get a handle on his past

I know he often thinks of years ago

When different decisions could have changed

Today

Of the time he spent in high school

As a bully

Of the things he’s been given by God

I also know he dreams of the future

All of the untapped potential in tomorrow

Of the possibilities residing within an idea

But there are times, like tonight,

Where I see him in the present

In stasis between then and not yet

He is suspended in the now

Trying to connect what’s behind

With what’s ahead

The two ends of the rope he holds,

Where he’s been and where he’s going,

Travel on to the center of the arc

And touch in the middle

Where the sound of their meeting

Marks the moment in which we stand

Irrevocably thrust together

In the briefest space of eternity