Yes, I will be making the trek from work to home, and I will encounter wonderful things along the way. I plan on taking the sunniest route possible. I also find myself tempted to take off my shirt and just cruise the streets; unfortunately my modesty requires I leave on my undershirt. I have a feeling that by the time I leave here, however, the fog will have rolled in and I will need my shirt, anyway. Sigh. What kind of summer is this?! One where you have to wear shirts?! Gah. GAH! I defy you foggy summer! I DEFY YOU!
Ok, enough smiting…moving on… yes Walking! Glorious walking! How lucky I am to live in place where I can walk from work to home. Sure it will take me about an hour, but just think of all the encounters I’ll have along the way. I’ll probably smell plenty of urine,
Mexican food,
and jasmine
and see countless kinds of people,
dogs,
and situations.
Maybe I’ll stop and get a drink? What kind of drink?
A bubble tea with tapioca?
A Veitnamese ice coffee?
Mexican Coke in a bottle?
A tall boy of Bud Light?
Then I’ll be off, up the hills I’ll charge, through the brightly flagged streets of the Castro
and down the slopes of the lower Haight.
Oh look, an open air produce market!
How convenient! I need to buy some tomatoes for eating
and some fruit for snacking.
Oh grapes!
I wanted grapes earlier and now here they are!
Thank you kind shop owner, here’s your money and off I go! Walking!
Oh! The bike shop just called. Looks like I’ll be riding home after all….
“We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive at where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
somewhere i have never travelled… (LVII)
somewhere i have never travelled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always
petal by petal myself as Spring opens(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending;nothing we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility: whose texture compels me with the colour of its countries,rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understandsthe voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands