Posted in Life

My patio

I love my patio. It has become my favorite place in my home. It is spring now, and the weather is brisk and cool, and new life is coming up around me everywhere.

From my third story, I overlook the swimming pool. It is clear and blue, and deceptively inviting, as the water is much too cool to swim. But the waterfall fountain bubbles long and deep, and drowns the pace of life to a tranquil hum. I have a sort of a natural oasis up here.

I’ve taken up gardening…that is, I bought a couple of plants. They are growing nicely—nubile green sprouts boldly poking their heads above the earthen pots. On the wall, a bird has build a mud-based nest. The two parents regularly flit in and out, along with a milieu of relations that stop in to say hello. They periodically swarm the patio, marking their territory of sorts. I guess I am on their approved humans list, as they don’t seem to bother me—a subtle presence with notebook and coffee.

And so I love to sit, here at this table and write. Although, life has been so busy I can barely capture a thought worth writing. Surely, there must be something. And, so I have pages and pages where I tried to capture meaning in the everyday….The birth of a co-worker’s child, the revolving door of people in and out of my house, the conversations I’ve had, both great and small, a dinner party we’ll host tonight, and all of these people that populate my life, new and old.

And yet, they all seem to be playing some sort of larger purpose. They all seem to be part of a great symphony, and I haven’t quite caught the melody. I can hear strains and various chords, and yet, I can’t seem to capture the harmony of it all. And, so I live, each day, loving, laughing, moving, savoring each moment and tucking it away in my heart.

That’s what life is. Seasons of movement, and seasons of rest. Seasons to plant, and seasons to birth. Seasons to create, and seasons to work. It is spring here. And new life is all around me. It is beautiful. It is right. It is good.

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Posted in Writing

A Fish Story

The one fish, two fish, red fish, blue fish, gathered together one night with the bigger fish to fry and the the fish that needed a bicycle, and they called in the fish that wasn’t off the hook yet, along with the one that didn’t take the bait. (The one that swallowed it, hook line and sinker, however, was decidedly unavailable for consultation). On the way, this growing entourage met up with the fish that had been out of water, who was being suspiciously consoled by the fish that well, drank like a fish, while looking looking for a “hook up,” with the more fish that are in the sea.

Together, this fishy group they inquired of the human race as to why they were the subject of such bad cliches, after all they said, “It’s all a bit…fishy.”