Some Long Pauses Between Spurts of Doing

I really like the mysteriousness of this river. It moves slowly and stays quiet. A very good place to think. Such clarity comes shortly after dawn….a sureness that falters as the day goes on and the sun tries to coax in other directions. Isn’t that word “coax” funny looking? Now a word spelled the same way has two syllables and has something to do with technical wiring. The way the letters are arranged doesn’t even remotely look like a word that means gentle persuasion. I am not going to use it again in written text…it just looks odd and isn’t even trying to be gentle.  From now on it will be “persuading with kindness”. Just look at that word “persuading”. Say it out loud and you almost see a hand reaching out to take your own while the word “coax” just sits there like a peculiar lump. I won’t use it again.

Aside from that diversion and getting back to the river…an odd pair enjoying each others’ company.

This morning at the dam I saw this. We shared a knowing of aloneness with a slight nod of the head, then went our separate ways.

Mostly under the overpass at the river there are just rocks but a few times there are small bibles or books offering comfort and an offer to choose another way. This offering caught my eye with the addition of an empty pint of a short-lived diversion.

By the next day half of us will believe someone picked them up in hopes of being saved and the rest of us will think they have landed in the litter bin. Regardless within the week more will be placed under the overpass by a true believer offering salvation.

I have been busy drawing. The fish wine bottles hung outside my studio.

The pocket finds from the river walks.

And my cats, Patches and Sadie.

They watch me closely waiting for me to say things out loud to stop the quiet of being here by ourselves.

Today I mended some clothes and began sewing on my last cut out shirt. I read a bit of poetry from Ted Kooser’s book, Kindest Regards. It is a lovely book of memory and observation. And it feels like a poetry book should feel. Like someone coated the cover with talcum powder. The two hundred plus pages inside are that soft ecru color that just beg to be turned and thumbed and paused over.

Lee is the same. Not as many falls as last week. He keeps to his wheel chair and pushes himself up and down the halls. He eats by himself if the food does not require utensils. The nurse told me that this morning she put his French toast together into a sandwich of sausage which he finished off in no time.

Well I need to go talk to my cats and locate something for dinner.

Til later