Why of Things

I might ponder the why of things

The how of things to come.

Wondering the why of things,

and we can see no reason.

But there is a reason, I suppose.

Great minds will ponder.

The world is a crazy, crazy,

Spinning mass of overpopulation.

Dirty, filthy, screaming mass.

Maybe that is why.

The planet is headed for destruction,

Of all life upon it....except the cockroaches

And a few things besides.

Who will be left...we know not.

Some say by 2040....not so far away.

So we must treasure each day we have,

Look out at nature and take pleasure.

Wondering  the why of things.

The how of things to come.

I long for a vacation out of my mind,

to visit places both far and away.

All I need is the time to go and

then money to pay, day by day.

I long for a trip outside of myself,

To places I've never been

To see city scapes and mountain views

To capture images I've never seen.

I LONG TO TRAVEL OUTSIDE AGAIN,

To see the sights that wait anew,

To smell fragrances of oders on the wind

to taste the sweetness of outside too.

I long to taste the foods out there,

the spices I have not known.

I love to feel the textures anew.

And see colors in food closeby grown.

'

I sit and can not write on this sunny day,

The peckers are drumming on my wall.

It is loud and calling the troops to meet.

I hope they are hearing its call.

I sit and can not write this day,

My mind on other, mindless stuff,

I can't bring the words to mind this day,

It is turning to bits of fluff.

Birds flying around outside, doing their daily chores.

I stare from inside while doing mine,

Wanting nothing but to be outdoors.

Back to work as the coffee is down to the grinds.

But I long to be outdoors with the birds,

Nothing else seem to enter my spring set mind.

I will end now my silly words.

Ravens

As I gaze out my view I see you fly,

Swaying gracefully in the still, blue, cloudy sky.

Above and through, dipping, gliding, swings.

As if you were a flying carpet made of wings.

You are joined by others flying high,

Each of you missing, as you own the sky,

An inconvenience you chortle and shout out loud,

"We own the sky, we own you, we own the cloud."

At last you land on one tall straight tree,

To survey the heavens and all that be.

Your words lift me up and take me along on a journey,

To a place I might not otherwise go....what a journey.

I say, Take me along, I shall be a companion in my mind when I can not be in my person.

I love to travel the wind and air,

Off somewhere with nary a care,

But the actual grounding of my thoughts.

For when I am grounded, I think not pleasant things.

But the reality of the harsh, cruel world we are becoming.

Instead of what nature has always tried to bring us, give us in its entirety.

Why can man not leave nature as it is?

Why can not woman speak out against his cruel treatment of nature.

And be heard. Some mighty men care lots. Let them be heard as well.

So you see where my thoughts lead and depressing as they are,

This is what I am thinking on a daily basis now.

Look sweetly to the good things happening, but they are far and few between.

I must look for them in the daily life of things.

I must look to the light and think positively on the people working towards that light.

I must think about what good things will happen to my friend in a hospital far away.

How her life will be yet another wonderful chapter in her creative endeavor.

I must think that there is a reason for everything,

I must become a believer in the positive posture of everything.

Each day is filled with the surprise of a new challenge.
It is ours to choose most of the time and we do.
To choose at least in how we begin and end that day.
Work fills much of it. We can choose to like the work,
Or we can choose to dislike the work.
But work It is. And it is all ours.
Each new day brings the steadiness of a new perspective.
We can see it at different angles, different degrees of separation.
Different emotions at how we approach the challenge.
Life, play whatever it be.

Front Porch

Front Porch

I am sitting on that porch of that cabin.
The night noises echo through the dark,
They are a comfort to me at my age.
They are not so to every living creature,
A coyote runs past in a flash, fluffy tail, fluffy body.
The prey animal must watch for the predator, always.
The feral cats disappear all at once in a flash.
I will not think about that this night, we are all prey to those that be.
One must grow a frog skin and repel the ugly thoughts and deeds.
One must think about the good of those that care.
Another night on the mountain of my day dreams.
A long many years spent on that mountain.
I have been fortunate in my living places.
I chose always to live near nature, in the wild places.
The wild places in both my mind and my actual.
I do not want to leave these wild places.
Ever, do I dream to stay, the wild calls, the call of the wild.

A little story:

There was once a little soul who lived in a hole in the wide old oak.

She never spoke, she never spoke, but dreamed and when she woke,

She realized that her tongue was gone.

She left the oak, and went looking for her words,

Where could they be THOUGHT she and she traveled first to the WILLOW TREE,

Near the CABIN in the WOODS and looked there, looked for the COLORFUL words.

No one lived in the OLD CABIN as it had been abandoned many YEARS.

She looked in the CHAIR, and UNDER the bed.

She looked in the MIRROR over her HEAD.

She looked with PLEASURE, she looked with DREAD.

She picked up the MANY WORDS and CARRIED them HOME.

For here were a FEW, and ENOUGH, she said.

The next morning her tongue had returned.

She breathed in deeply knowing full well what she had learned.