Spirit seeking

I went forth upon the land to see if there be any spirits still free.

From the levee to North Lawrence, from the Kaw River to the school, I went forth on my bicycle riding.

On the levee, I had passed by a woman, jogging along, sun-colored ponytail bobbing.

On a sidewalk, I had passed by a man, gray curly hair tucked under a cloth cap, azure tennis shoes shuffling.

On the bridge, I had passed by a woman, wind-whipped florescent pink sweatshirt wrapped around  waist walking.

On 7^th Street, I had passed by a man, sweat-shiny black face carrying his forklift load high hand waving.

At NY Elementary School, children had passed me by, backpacks of every color as I had sat watching.

And then this scene, pictured here, I had passed it by on my quest. I will speak not now of signs and wonders. You can judge all for yourself.

Perhaps I might have found what I had sought, if I only had opened wider mine eyes. Perhaps there be spirits still free breathing among the strangers near meeting.

Fire and Ice in February

                                        

                                                                                                     

                                                                                                       - with appreciation to Mr. Frost

There was a fine freezing mist in the air

and the feet from my bed were quite bare.

I saw an ice crystal blanket out on the ground.

I was surely old enough to come in out of the rain

and I knew without a doubt that it was damned cold.

That last, at least, I didn’t have to be told.

It certainly wasn’t summer

and I clearly wasn’t slumbering,

although it was at least three or four

o’clock in the morning.

And so without good sense,

I quietly stepped out the back door

in my twinkle-toed bed-warmed bare feet.

As it turned out, they were liars.

Ice doesn’t burn like fire,

Ice burns like ice.

Ice sears your skin

and makes your heart pound.

And by then I had completely lost the rhyme

and I plainly had no reason remaining.

My beating heart had suddenly caught fire.

And so like a blazing comet I sped

with my bathrobe tails flying behind.

I raced around the center of my universe –

that is to say my house - just the one time.

And then, hurriedly, I hurried back to my

cozy warm bed.

This much might be true:

you die only once

and so you might as well live

as if this was your first time.

Fire burns hot like a burning fire.

But sprinting across thin ice

just might suffice.

A silly riddle

How do you teeter totter

with a mustached man

who is twice your weight in stones

and has his pockets full of junk?

And how do I get monarchs

and moths to alight

on my curlicued ears

when I am lying in the tall green grass?

There must be tricks to be sure,

but not truths to be told.

I suppose that I might begin

by looking for fireflies

when the sun goes down.

And then I will imagine pink lips

flitting over a weathered gray fence.

So I will make something sweet for you -

something as easy as rice crispy treats.

I will hide in plain sight

with my mustache died a bright pink

for fluttering April fools

and silly girls like you.

An embarrassment of riches Or Creative excess

A slice of whole wheat bread,

fresh and warm from the oven -

why, a man might live by just that alone.

But butter might be better

and apricot jam …

… and now this just in:

my wife went and made those ridiculous cupcakes again.

Just the overwhelming scent of chocolate

would make a grown man drool.

And then when I took the first bite I nearly swooned.

Chocolate – rich, light-textured, dark chocolate - 

and just the cake would have been quite enough.

But then she had filled in the centers of the cupcakes

with a gooey dark chocolate ganache.

I mean a man couldn’t lick his fingers fast enough.

Well that, dear reader, really should have been that.

But no! Then she topped those ridiculous cupcakes

with a ridiculous buttercream frosting.

Absurd.

Bonkers.

Crazy.

I had to go for a walk.

I mean, a man might lose his mind.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

Life is embarrassingly rich.

Ludicrously luscious,

and that’s still just this one man’s opinion

about the butter on the bread.

Forget about cupcakes!

Just give me a glass of cold water

and a slice of fresh bread

and I’ll just sit contentedly on my front porch swing

Maybe I’ll just nod off for a bit.

Truly, this is all too ridiculous for words.

The circling of life

As I walked across the Kaw River Bridge,

I saw birds flying.

There were seagulls and pigeons –

and there was one lone Bald Eagle flying above it all.

They flew in circles, but hardly perfect circles.

Maybe spirals in and spirals out.

Mostly the birds flew round and about.

Maybe a little dipsy doodle now and then.

I couldn’t really tell you much more about that than this:

the birds turned and turned and turned yet again,

dividing time and space

and leaving no visible trace –

quite unlike the jet airplane far overhead,

flying straight into the setting sun.

Seagull launch

As I looked out, I saw a tight cluster of bright white dots against the tan of a sand spit. Seagulls rested several hundred yards away from me on the far side of the island just downstream from the Kaw River Bridge. In the time it took for me to look away and then back again, they were all airborne. In some quite distinct pattern, random and ordered, the seagulls all flew away from where I stood, flying downstream. They were well-spaced apart, yet flying together, bright white wings cutting through the air against a gray-shadowed river.

I had missed it. I had missed the very moment of their launch. I had simply not been watching for the signal for what might have been the last seagull launch of the season.

Still, looking again downstream, I followed the gulls’ flight as they ascended, smoothly, gracefully upward, bright white wings fully extended. And then they all turned in an easy circle and angled back upstream, settling like sprinkles of bright white salt on dark rocks in the shallow gray water. The gulls had come back to rest not much more than fifty yards from where they had taken off a minute or so ago.

Then I saw that a few gulls had separated themselves from the flock and flew up and over the bridge where I stood watching. The wind caught their wings and turned them, but the gulls turned again and headed, determined, into the wind. Perhaps it was their task to report to mission control that the practice launch had been successful and the gulls were fully prepared, ready for the final takeoff into the great beyond.

But I could not tune into the seagull’s frequency. I was merely a distant observer. I would likely miss the next launch as well.

The wind tugged at my jacket and I turned and headed into March.

Flyover

A friend and I had been walking along the river when we came to where the levee trail meets the Kaw River Bridge and paused to look back at the river. Several dozen geese must have been startled up into flight from where they had been resting on the river behind the Bowersock hydroelectric power plant. Not knowing that we were there, the geese flew sharp around the corner of the building, directly towards the space between the bridge and the levee where my friend and I were standing. 

With no time to change their course, the geese flew towards us in some disarray, fast and close, just over our heads, wings beating hard against the air. We – and several geese - were nearly eye to eye for just a few seconds. And then, just as quickly, the geese had dodged past us and had banked back towards the river over on the other side of the bridge. There they came back together from their moments of individual frantic flight and formed up into their characteristic ‘V’ formations. The geese flew steadfastly away, heading north.

My friend and I crossed the bridge, heading home.