if there was ever a perfect day
this one is here, today, visiting me in Kansas
it’s not hot, not cold
there’s a bit of a breeze, kissing me softly
I scared off a mosquito before it bit me
a bird is joyfully tweeting
I am mobile
I can walk
I can see
my eyes are good
not great, but passable
two puppies lie at my feet, letting me be their queen
my tummy is full
a perfect day
A BUSY DAY IN NATURE
Spiders building webs…
Maggots metamorphosing…
Free flies flip flopping…
I lived happily in Cardiff by the Sea,
and, one day, went to the store to buy tea.
Now, I stay in bed day and night,
shivering in terrified fright,
for the checker looked exactly like me.
light lamb frolicking
the pasture is her playground
smiles from her fans
farmer does his chores
chop chop chop says his loud axe
day in the country
Road work had been finished
for the winter on an asphalt strip
north of town near a nature preserve.
I said good-bye to the hotel owner
and he invited me back
although the town was a lifetime away
from my home. We shook hands.
The town wore its history well
with a façade of an old west town
complete with a jail and post office
on its main street, as if it wanted
to live that life again.
Picture postcards were sold in a drug store
to be packed away and taken home.
Gates of fences aligning themselves
on either side of a highway
spoke of the last cattle drive.
I realized this was the west
where cowboys lived and died.
Reflections stirred of how we gave of our lives
for our dreams and for the ones we loved.
Hasn’t it always been this way?
Sandhills loomed to my side as I drove
on a two-lane east to another town
where I could see another historic site
then get onto the interstate and drive
to the next assignment.
The sky above the open land was an ocean
as I drove east toward the sun.
A cold wind has the breath
of Antarctica coming up
from the south. Snow is falling
in the Alps. Small boats
huddle in the sheltered corners
of the Bay as I make my way
towards the foreshore
and the spray swept pier.
In the far distance, gulls wheel
inside a shaft of sunlight
gathering gold on joyous wings.
Suddenly, something leaps up
from out of its wintry solitude
to join them.
It was only a sprig
of red berries poking through
a mantle of snow.
But something in their quiet defiance—
so small, so sure, so bold—
stopped me in rushing mid-stride,
as if beauty had broken
some sealed place inside me,
and light, unbidden,
had found a way in.
The world went quiet around me
except for the whispered ticking
of snow melting on my coat.
The berries didn’t beckon—
they simply serenely endured,
like a secret held in plain sight.
I didn’t kneel, but my heart did
and time loosened for a moment.
The air was full of watching.
Even the light seemed to listen.
My class had already started
and the prof raised his eyebrows at me,
so I told him about the berries—
he shot me a skeptical look,
but that didn’t matter a bit.
Some moments don’t explain themselves,
they speak in silence anyway.
I sat in the back smiling,
still picturing the berries
long after the lecture began.
The air is heavy—
like a warm, wet blanket wrapped around everything.
The sun?
Hiding behind a cloud,
like it doesn’t want to deal with the day.
The Brahmaputra flows—
slow, wide, calm.
It mirrors the dull sky,
grey and tired like it skipped breakfast.
The trees don’t move.
Not even a whisper of wind.
Just leaves, soaked with sweat,
hanging there like they’ve given up.
The cicadas sing—
a slow, sleepy song,
as June presses down on everything.
The earth lets out a long, hot breath.
Dragonflies zip past,
quick little sparks in the still air.
Then—
a moment.
Rain.
Just a sprinkle.
Just enough to tease.
And then—steam,
rising from the roads,
rolling off the fields like ghosts in the heat.
The tea plants droop,
lined up in rows,
too tired to smell sweet anymore.
But even in all this sweat,
this heat,
this heavy, breathless air—
there’s something strong here.
Something green.
Something alive.
That’s Assam.
Unshaken.
Unbothered.
Beautiful.
"Somewhere beyond the sinkhole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever." ~ Marjorie Kinnan Rowlings, from The Yearling
In heights above, see a dazzling sun.
Drink fresh air. It's time you must awake.
Arise, make for the stream by the lake.
On youthful legs, take flight and swiftly run.
Hunt for frogs. I know you'll catch me one.
Another day in paradise begun,
where clouds float aloft and aspens quake
in heights above.
Enjoy each moment, like a yearling fawn.
In boyhood's days, joyfully partake.
Gaze upon the stars in heaven's wake,
and spy that shooting star before it's gone
in heights above.
“So fickle are Earth weather schemes;
help Winter steal Springtime's new dreams.”
_by Poet
Rose yesterday to a surprise-
an April snowstorm filled the night;
could not believe my gaping eyes-
as scenes turned white from green.
The daffodils were a sad sight
as if praying the Sun will rise-
bent over from their frosty plight.
Today, the Sun restored their prize-
they stand up tall with great delight;
forgetting when snow filled the skies-
as scenes turned white from green.
>
2025.3.27
For me, it will be the last swimming day in the beach.
I came here to enjoy the nature for one hour.
Time flies so fast, it breaks my heart.
It was not long ago,
Two brand new swim suits added to my wardrobe.
I maximised them and used them weekly.
Now, chances to swim in the sea,
Will be very slim and almost down to zero.
I was not brave enough to swim in the cold.
So, I have no choice but swim in the pool.
The pools always have chlorine and chemicals.
I could not have both.
Natural seasonal salt water,
Or year round regulated temperature.
I pray I still be alive and fit to enjoy splashing around,
In summer at the end of the year.
On a different note, I swam here not long ago.
A matter of fact it was about three weeks ago.
The ocean, the beach and the sand,
And the scenery remained the same,
But something had definitely changed.
A day spring day 1952
It was a day in April, the boy sat by the milk ramp waited for the man, who drove from farm-to-farm, collecting milk for the Dairy in local town There was only one type of milk he knew of it was full fat and tasted smooth and creamy He, became aware of how beautiful the landscape like seeing the nature for the first time and as it tuned out it was also for the last time, his mother was back from the sanatorium He had to go to her he got a job delivering gods on his bike and never returned to the farm, but the beauty of that day has stayed with as a time of glory when the world was unspoiled
My daily routine.
Every day, as always,
Wake up at four.
Start the chores.
Go to the gardens,
Do some maintenance.
Visit the M Central
Play the piano.
One hour goes past,
Enjoy some breakfast.
Go to the library,
Take up space,
Use the computer/internet,
Lunch with meal set.
In the arvo,
Play more and more piano.
Otherwise, visit "Maker Space".
Do some embroideries
For the rest of the day.
What a wonderful day with appointment free.
Tomorrow is another day,
With hectic classes and clinics.
Appointments and treatments
Do not know how to describe,
How the rest of the week was like?
Few words maybe.
Busy and very busy.
Life moves on,
Regardless how you want it.
On a perfect sunny day, gulls play over the bay.
A breakaway to a perfect hideaway went estray.
On the beach water sprays on those that lay in its way.
2/14/2025
A day in Cascais
Storms and rain have blown away
Green grass grows on cracked pavement
This place was once a low-slung hill
With small farms and animals
The landscape disappeared under concrete
Apartment blocks and shops
A tree-lined avenue, the town’s pride
Up-rooted trees from somewhere else
Re-planted
The trees found rich soil, have big leaves
Looks great in spring
Is this progress, but the struggling grass
On the pavement’s cracks
Will one day make a landscape rich and green
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