I did not know this at the time
As I transcribe from a journal
Of scribbles once a week to a another journal.
Of a woman naked on the sand
Perfect too as my son is here bathing
This morning and there is
Danielle running back toward
The wildflowers, her red and green
Party dress blowing round her as she
Twists and turns round the dreams
And nightmares going on for days
And days until she has settled down
To catch her breath and stand alone
In the field among the flowers
Her dog whose journey is the same
Standing beside here alert and steady
Her mind at peace overflowing
No reason to hurry anywhere
She holds something in her hand
And she laughs and laughs and laughs
When I woke
In the middle of the night
I saw a black bear outside
I heard a baby crying
At the window the bear
Stood and he knocked
I opened the door and invited him
Inside he sat on the couch
I offered him tea
I told him I read
Some people say we are the dreams
Of animals, their nightmares, he spoke
As someone who knows and rising
From the couch he said \”Come
Come with me.\” I climbed
On his back and we
Walked out the door
And he took me to a time of long ago.
And last summer I wrote
A poem called \”Our Path:\”
And every few minutes I talked.
Good dog, Good dog.
On we went through the park.
All the time my dog here
There, everywhere
A scent sensation.
And when I wanted
To stop to photograph
This late September early morning
I said, Freddy, sit, and he sat
And he waited and when I said
Okay on we went
Our way past Meadow Trail And Beaver Brook.
This is my path. Our path.
We came to a hill.
I huffed and puffed to the top.
And my dog wagged his tail To the top.
We made our way Home.
I cut zinnias.
Red, orange, yellow, cream
And purple cosmos
For a vase that rests on a table
Next to my garden.
Soon I will be dead-heading
All the cosmos and zinnias flowers.
There must be thousands!
Still bright and bold and colorful In the garden. I change
The water in the three bird baths.
I prune the rose bushes and I am
Not sure at all of what I am doing. I water
The potted plants. So many bumblebees!
They fly from zinnia to zinnia
To cosmos to cosmos.
They do Their job.
Never I imagine
Thinking I am so busy today.
They follow their path.
Gary Snyder wrote:
\”Reality-insight says get a sense of immediate politics and history, get control of your own time; master the twenty-four hours. Do it well, without self-pity. It is as hard to get the children herded into the car pool and down the road to the bus as it is to chant sutras in the Buddha-hall on a cold morning. One move is not better than the other, each can be quite boring, and they both have the virtuous quality of repetition. Repetition and ritual and their good results come in many forms. Changing the filter, wiping noses, going to meetings, picking up around the house, washing dishes, checking the dipstick—don\’t let yourself think these are distracting you from your more serious pursuits. Such a round of chores is not a set of difficulties we hope to escape from so that we may do our \”practice\” which will put us on a \”path\” — it is our path.\”
I made dinner. Black beans
And rice. And wine.
And our dog and cat
Slept as we watched Nashville.
And I am Blessed.
Our house.
Our family.
A few weeks ago; the gift was
Visiting my mother-in-law and
Ann has taught me the counting
Ceaselessly, the praying ceaselessly
Is another gift, grace and gifts
From God; a poem
Of my life, a symphony and
Bruce Barone 