Posted in Communication, human nature, metaphor, Nature, poetry, safety

Common Ground

The question is not being, if or to, but rather when and what or why and where and how.

If one does this instead of that, results may shift by threads, or swelling clouds of snow. But time, as lord of all, crafts here and now at whim.

And what of this is relevant? What is fluff, and what’s concrete?

A crack, a stone, a thought, a breath, the need to move, progress?

It seems the center’s gone beyond not holding to full collapse. But those corners remaining, can they sustain our weight without it?

Years ago, I saw a man on a corner far from mine. Because there was no ground between us, we got by on shallow waves, our certainties preserved by distance until one day a spot appeared no larger than a tender seed and we set our feet upon it. And from each common yes no maybe, it grew.

Soon it will be spring and time to plant. That, I think, is being; that, I think is when and what and why and where and urgently, mindfully how.


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Posted in human nature, Nature, safety

Sticks and Stones

Version 2

The bunny is staying far from that tree limb. It has the right idea.

I look at the ground when I walk, not really what you’re supposed to do. Bad posture, alignment, and all that. But I don’t care.

During the summer, I made the mistake of looking up, away from where I was stepping (I can’t recall why), and didn’t see a stick about three inches long, and an inch in diameter, directly in my path. As my foot landed on it, the stick rolled, my ankle turned, and I wound up crashing to the pavement. As I lay there, trying to recover my senses, I spied the offending object, cursed, and vowed to smash it to pulp.

No one in the ER, nor anyone else who has since heard my story, was in the least bit surprised by the cause of my injuries. A few even nodded, saying, “I’ve done that.” They know all too well, it’s the little sticks or stones that get you, the ones that blend into the pavement, lurking, waiting.

Months later, the memory of losing control, tumbling, hitting the ground is still fresh. I suppose some people would get over such a thing easily. Fortune was with me that day, ptui, ptui, ptui (yes Grandma, I’m still spitting), nothing broke. A few weeks later, all the pain was gone, the abrasions mostly healed, the bruises mostly faded. Some people would simply carry on.

But me? I’m ever more mindful of all the small things that can trip a person.

So, I look down when I walk. And if I see a stick, or stone, I pick it up.

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