Day of work, not much done. Day of play, not much. Two meals. Kingsman movie (time I’ll never get back), conversations, correspondence – three women, three metaphors. Was it one? Or was it four?
Perhaps you wonder if I mean four women or four metaphors.
Me too …
Near/far/young/old/pretty/pretty wrinkly … how many people cross your path or cross you off lists altogether?
Some rays. Some sunshine. Some ole-pals. Some strangers. Some stranger still. Some are black cats crossing paths – leaving me wonder if I should retreat, take another path.
One person sees absurdity.
Lazy words and territorially protective safety, for what?
Why is it we cannot erase what we cannot erase?
Strikes me odd.
Establishing easily with strangers, rapport which is soft and kind, without edge or wedge or foreboding …
Oldness, coldness cannot erase or reduce explanations categorized, catastrophic or quite simple … cat-lady. Not cat-woman, but more of “an old, scarred and multi-territorially protective lioness” (not my words).
Intrigue. Near. Far. Risking change. Fostering idea collisions. Weekday collisions, arguments and cross-words with men. Weekend collisions, arguments and crosswords – involve women.
Hmm .. re-structure my week?
Swap work for play, play for work?
Frost had paths. Berra, road-forks. Steinem – fish, and bicycles.
More metaphors – not Svengalis stalking muses, nor Pygmalion men – yet idea of delightful young woman wanting to meet me, pick my brain over lunch. Flattered? Of course I was/am. Intrigued? Perhaps both were …
Whatever admonitions we hear, path-crossings are not for avoiding.
They beg meeting head-on. Nice, bumping-into.
Solitary morning papers, coffee, toast – quiet time I like so much.
Not this quiet.
column written/ published from Calgary, AB
morning walk: -12C/11F, light breeze – we walked as it was getting light, long and leisurely, Gusta happy, me happy, what more could I want but a walk on a beach (24 days to go… but who’s counting?)