Monday Morning Musings:
From whistling space
dust swirls and burns
glowing
singing
lighting the universe
reaching shores,
then, like tides
sweeping back to the sea
tumbling again and again
in a wave
a new formation
a new song
a new life born
an old life lived
connected
eternal
We go to the movies
a ghost in a white sheet
views his life
rooted to a place, a home,
a place always there and not
time moves differently for him
and for us, in watching him watching
beautiful, sad, but perhaps hopeful, too
(open to interpretation)
there is much for us to discuss
over coffee, of course,
and as we walk through a city
filled with old and new

A Path to the Past in Summer Bloom
observing how the seasons alters its look
summer flowers making everything bright and beautiful
the city changes over time
here was once a creek
that grew filthy with waste
a sewer
covered now by grass and trees
bucolic space in urban expanse
expansive thoughts arose here, too
made a nation

Maybe someone should write a musical about him.
bodies buried now
yet ghosts still walk among us
paths that bend in time
we hear their voices whistling in the wind
in the space around us
feel their ideas
(legacies)
ebb and flow
the things they left behind
We take my mom on an outing
away from city ghosts
though they linger in memory,
she talks of her parents
her mother sewed piecework for a time
during the Great Depression
her father was upset that his wife went to work
But she worked in their store, didn’t she?
Yes, but that was different, she says and laughs
her brother, my baby brother, I miss him, she says
he was an active child
always falling out of things—the carriage, his crib–
he fell out of my mom’s bed once
she was supposed to be watching him
he bumped his head on the radiator,
she never told her mom
but, I guess it didn’t hurt him
he lived a good life,
though it ended before my mom’s
and now we share the memory of him,
a ghost living in our hearts
We sit drinking wine, overlooking the vineyard
it’s a beautiful day
we watch families
children playing with a beach ball on the grass
hawks flying overhead
we sit discussing the past and the future
our conversation ebbs and flows
thoughts linger, pause—
and float up into space
We eat Pakistani food at my daughter and son-in-law’s house
their dog chases creatures, real and imaginary
birds whistle and sing,
echoing us,
or do we echo them?
We sit with greenery all around us
then eat cupcakes that look like flowers

My daughter’s beautiful and delicious creation.
(summertime)
I wonder about the people who used to live in this house
and what was it before them–
Field? Farm?
And before that?
Did native Americans walk here
in migrations that followed the seasons
circling round, year after year
ghosts walking among us
watching us
rooted to this spot
waiting for something or someone
waiting for a sign,
a message,
a whistle perhaps
a thought that has floated up
swept up in time
and brought back down again
lighting the universe
We saw the movie A Ghost Story. Trailer here. I think it’s a movie that people will either love or hate. It’s a definite Merril movie, but my husband loved it, too.
We drank coffee at Customs Coffee House at 2nd and Chestnut, Philadelphia,
went to Sharrott Winery
And ate Pakistani food from Mera Khana Restaurant I could eat those vegetable samosas every day!
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