From my balcony, I gaze upon the Florentine Duomo. She luxuriates under a full moon that illuminates her facade for all to see. She is oblivious. Oblivious to the anxiety, suffering and fears. She stands, proud and elegant, as she has stood during so many man made crisis. She has seen the Black Plague, extreme fires and floods, the renaissance, World War I, World War II and she knows...
...As she glows under the moonlight, she reminds us all, that our human spirit is resilient, it is divine, and that she and we, as a collective consciousness, will remain, endure, perhaps in a new form. We will, as a Phoenix, from the ashes, arise with more love, more compassion and finally unite as one.
Silent wind-chimes suspended from red-painted ironwork.
The yard needs mowing, shocks of wild chives and masses of purple dead-nettle erupting everywhere.
My herb garden, the front end just visible where hyacinths are popping up among the lavender, calls me to finish weeding beyond the sage. Fox Way, its eastern terminus directly opposite my door, gently curves away to the left as it rolls downhill, cars parked on both sides and in driveways along its length, nobody having church to go to today.
The playground at the lower end, where Fox meets Mohican, its bright green slides and climbing bars highlighted by a flowering cherry in the yard behind, empty while children are kept inside.
Monday March 30, 2020. 3:00 pm
Right now I see outside my window, huge clouds looking down on a sea of Junipers.
I see Winds of change sweeping away old ways of being in this world.
I see bird droppings on the deck , they have left these when they were hanging out this morning and each morning on the bird bath having their morning waters, my close allies, who bring messages of hope each new day.Robins , Bluebirds and often A Flicker, Flicker of my desire tapping on the ice to make a hole to reach the water underneath that is not frozen. He is persistent tap tap tapping, drumming, knocking until he reaches his desire , water, in this high desert we call home.
In the distance I see mountains to the south where I long to drive, to them and over and through them to the other side of this "Sheltering In Place"
The View from my Window – March 31, 2020
I see my Daffodils fading from their glorious bright yellow full bloom.
I see my green leafed Iris springing upwards toward the missing sun on an overcast day.
I see my red tinged sprouting Peonies showing their gratitude for being adopted and transplanted by me.
In their previous location, in another yard, far away, they felt unwanted because they were mowed regularly, not allowed to show their full glory.
I look forward to the arrival of all the bright colors of spring, hoping and praying that I live so long.
I see walls, first a waist high cinder block wall painted white, lined with dark red bricks, then my neighbor’s unpainted new wooden fence trying to hide behind an old chain link fence and a massive mature Oak tree, provider of acorns for all the squirrels as they scamper about.
GUIDELINES FOR YOUR FEEDBACK
Reading, how did your senses respond to the writing?
Reading, what did you taste, what did you see, what did you hear, what do you feel
What were some words or phrases that really struck you? Repeat them and share them with the writer
If you imagined that your words were like water to nurture this green young writing, what
would you say?
Feel free to address ANY ONE or MORE of these in your feedback.
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Thank you and adelante con arte!