Overcast skies,
mourning doves crooning,
cars gliding slowly
across soaked asphalt.
Wisps of steam
rise from your teacup,
raindrops streak
down the half-open windows
of the screened-in porch —
pooling on the sills and
trickling from the gutters.
The world grinds to a halt,
just for this moment.
Breezes blow in
through the insect screens,
rustling branches
and carrying
wafts of petrichor
that connect you
to the world you swore
you’ve escaped from.
A few more minutes
out here
couldn’t hurt.
Beware of any oasis,
because nowhere in this world of oddities,
will you cross the same river twice.
Try, try, try, as you might,
leaning into the current,
cannot bring you to the past-
grasping for the rain drops,
will not help you
stand steady and weather a storm.
No matter how torn,
you may feel,
there are times you must leave it all behind,
you’ll know it when you see it.
But so be it,
and fear not,
you never have to leave green pastures,
if you can bring them with you,
in tempests and torrents,
deserts, meadows, canyons, summits.
So long as you’re still going,
you are always exactly
where you need to be.
If you’re a fish out of water,
I really hope you’re a mudskipper.
Soothing clover,
Smoothing over,
Lingering soreness.
Warm tea,
Is all your senses
take in.
You can’t find it in you to panic,
About the day,
Anxieties melt away,
Nothing left to say,
Just watching the morning.
Sometimes meditation
Is part of your routine–
Sometimes you do it
as soon as you
awaken.
Sometimes you do it,
In the middle
Of an intense run.
Sometimes you do it
while you eat
your morning oatmeal.
Just being there
For right now
Is all the relief
you need.
When you pass time, and things have passed you by-
You hesitate to say that “time flies.”
When you look up, it’s the same sky,
then one moment it’s February, the next it’s July,
then summer’s almost over,
then the leaves have died.
Sit when you sit, run when you run,
Think not of snow when standing in the sun,
fear no sharks when you swim in the ocean,
and don’t hit the brakes if you’re looking for momentum.
The world whirls at its own pace, and does not mask this,
in this we are hapless.
Like it or not, it spins on its axis,
and you are not Atlas.
Make the best of this game of chess,
It takes finesse not to obsess,
It makes a mess to regress-
When you compress your experience,
you end up with less.
The File Pile 