Plaint splashes. Painter leaves. Returns. Another splash. Another day – another.
Can’t splash, then dash.
Blending thoughts, swirling.
Dust wisps, hot summer day, sifted, seasoned, stirred. That kind. Cannot put single word on this page, then walk away.
Page is dike, capturing word leaks.
Page sponge, captures tears, fears, delivers belly to brain. Self, to self. Unspoken truth, feeling’s depth.
Where were you when you knew what you know?
When was it you knew?
Who taught you?
Feel – have values, opinions? Think, to care?
Does it matter now?
Did it, ever?
Cannot explain anything without depth, and heft.
Gone, vanished – left so much, themselves, built into us.
Limp or weary, departed or dead, they held us up – standing, no need for paint splashed or wrinkle lines drawn – or written.
column written/ published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: 10C/50F, overcast, moisture laden morning breeze (more rain predicted today), long heavy train rumbling by, Gusta sniffing rabbit trail while the rabbit sits happily safe a half-block ahead [at these moments one doubts one’s dog’s intelligence] which amuses me. I expect the rabbit is amused as well ...
If you liked any Musing column, it would mean a lot to me if you would respond. Comments are welcome, so please contribute to the discussion. To reply, use: firstname.lastname@example.org . You can also connect with me on LinkedIn . You can sign up your friends here at MarkMusing.com . This site is updated daily, each column is retained in the archive when the next day's column is loaded ...