Monday Morning Musings:
“All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.”
–Edgar Allan Poe, “A Dream Within a Dream”
“Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.”
–T.S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton” (No. 1, of “Four Quartets”)
What is the color of eternity?
All the fires of star bursts
in shades of never-seen, a sheen
scented with petriochor
caramel, and wisps of ozone—more–
perhaps a dream.
Summer Color at Whitall House, National Park, NJ
I am bemused, delighted
by the brilliant colors of the sky sighted
the verdant green of almost-summer
and trees that call,
“Look at me now!”
and I’m enthralled,
with leafy boughs
that wave and wow,
Dock Creek, Old City, Philadelphia
but time is flowing in syncopated rhythms
with unexpected accents,
changing in split seconds
from waltz to unsquare dance,
and I’m bemused,
how do grey storm clouds change to blue sky,
how does asleep move to wide awake,
and we cannot stay still–
Ominous sky over Ben Franklin Bridge
over the hill
my mother goes from weak and incoherent
to mobile and lucid overnight
and back again, delight and fright,
I scarcely think of my dead father
on Father’s Day
when I see baby fawns,
twins napping in the sun,
their mother gone
Seeing them is nature’s gift to me.
I accept it gratefully.
I dream my mother’s apartment
has been turned into a hospital
I wake up annoyed
(Okay, Dr. Freud)
that I was not informed
of how it was transformed.
My mother tells me she has
another apartment upstairs—
it’s much nicer she says.
Perhaps it is, I think. I can’t compare.
I wonder about time,
and is it ever lost or gone?
The past exists in our memories—
like a rhyme
heard long ago–
the child me, my alive father,
my young mother
I think all still exist somewhere
but stretching back
like an endless series of mirror reflections
colors into black.
I watch the baby geese grow,
a new generation shows
walking by the river–
no music like its symphony
whispering of birth and earth,
singing of life, joy and strife,
keening at death in the currents
that flow to the sea
again and again.
The baby geese are almost grown.
Always one photo-bomber
I watch past and future
flow and merge
like that river to the sea
dreaming of time,
dreams within dreams. . .and then
still the sun sets and rises again.
We haven’t gone to any movies, shows, or events recently—life and work have been a bit crazy–but we did watch Everybody Knows on Netflix (good but not as good as his previous films), and we’ve been enjoying Good Omens on Amazon Prime. It’s a lot of fun. And here’s Dave Brubeck’s Unsquare Dance. I have no idea why I thought of this today, but you’re welcome. We’ve had some beautiful days, but also a tornado warning on Thursday night, with tornados that touched down in nearby towns, and now stormy weather forecast for the next several days. I hope that’s not a life-metaphor.