At the Beach
Looking out toward the ocean. In a reflective mood. Scooping up the sand. Letting it pour out through the spaces between my fingers. Feeling the presence of other things. Perhaps shells. Perhaps pebbles. Widening my fingers to let them pass. Feeling the years pile up. Questioning future possibilities. Is it too late?
sand
and other things
Snapshots
Deep autumn. Driving by a shrine. In a narrow space between two buildings, a ginkgo tree. Tall. Massive. Its leaves vibrant yellow. Posing beneath it, a group of men and women. All with golden hair. My imagination runs wild. The connections I make.
Swedish tourists gathered
under a ginkgo tree
Recollections
The hum dum routine. Driving my wife to work. Driving my son to daycare. Driving to work. Working.
Driving to my wife’s work. Driving to my son’s daycare. Driving home. Driving my other children to soccer practice. And dance practice. Driving home.
So much time spent in the car. Driving nowhere. Driving everywhere.
Everywhere young girls in school uniforms. Waiting on corners. Waiting at bus stops. Flipping their hair. Checking their makeup. Rolling up their skirts.
touching her thighs
a passing breeze
Adolescence
Is it me? I don’t know. I don’t think so. But then. There is this thing beside me. Growing. Changing. It answers. Occasionally. But more often. It glowers. It’s a phase. People say.
in the seat beside me
my daughter
Sometimes
The last train. It’s a deadline. Be on time. Or walk home. From here. It’s a long walk. It takes time. From here. If I walked. What time? Would I get home?
After a few drinks. It’s mild out. The breeze. Unseasonably warm. Looking at the sky. Sharp points pierce the black. It might be nice. To walk home. So many things could happen. Along the way. Or possibly. Nothing.
the train I didn’t miss
the adventure I did
In a Flash
On autopilot. Moving. Being. Where I’m expected to be. All the time. And then. The lights go out. Looking back. In the dark. There is nothing. Nothing to report. Nothing to say. Nothing to write. But the truth. Dull as it is.
comes to an end
without a word
Clever
I tell a story. The 90s. The 20th century. To my children. It’s a horse and buggy story. Why didn’t you use your phone? They ask.
What phone? I ask.
What phone!?! My children are confused.
What did you do? They ask.
For fun? They ask.
When you had nothing to do? They ask.
the way we used to
scroll
That first shot is beautiful! Slipping away... Life seems to do that more an more the older I get. The scary part is the part left in front of me is a lot shorter than the part I've already lived!
Funny how school girls are, I don't miss being that age at all. Twenty-five I really miss! That phase your daughter is in will pass, kids all go through it. Girls more than boys. It's odd how they start to grow so independent when they used to depend on you for everything. Enjoy it while it lasts! At least you have a little one to hang onto those moments a little longer!
Great poems as always, I hope you have a great weekend with your family!
The little one definitely balances things out well. I wasn’t prepared for the changes that puberty brings in kids. Maybe I should have read a book about it, but even still, I don’t know if that would have helped.
I’ve seen my nieces and nephews go through it, so I know there is an end to it, but this is my first experience as a parent, which maybe shouldn’t change things but does.
Beautiful, playful, and touching poetry
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Beautiful photo at the end to finish the blog! How have you been doing?
A few more ups and downs this year than I care for, but doing fine. Looking forward to moving away from 2024 and into 2025. How about you?
Jut plugging away here on Hive, working same job as usual, getting some good hikes in several times a year. Repeat. It's a good cycle, waiting for the bull to kick in too.
It looks like it could be here.
You definitely cracked the method code with content and posting on Steemit and Hive.
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