Window Seat

Sparse light that manages to find its way
into a new living space makes for a new vantage point. Illuminating little inside, it frames the outside world in a window of possibilities. The fickle foliage, slow and patient, yearning for more, thrives, survives, and grows.

A City Alive

Having spent a few days in New York, I realized I need to do it more often. The pace, the interactions, the pulse, all of it was so intoxicating and addictive. Many have told me that New Yorkers are obnoxious and impersonal. I beg to differ. I think that their candor and forthrightness are mistaken for something more insidious.
A Philadelphian to some degree, I don't get the same level of engagement in the city of brotherly love. Perhaps the Quaker origins of this city's founders had a part in shaping the culture of modesty and reservedness that seem to predominate. There is a staid and conservative nature which ensures security and moderates success. Lacking, however, is the risk-taking and openness to creative ideas that a city needs to explore if it really wants to blossom.
New York does have its problems, don't get me wrong. The outrageously expensive cost of housing and the excessive taxes do have a way of keeping many on the edge of dropping out. But the constant influx of new ideas and a bold approach to the task of living is reason enough (for me) to appreciate a city that never sleeps, a city alive.

A Different Path

P1000020
Originally uploaded by herrmani.

A neighbor's attempt at adding some color to the usually bland sidewalks in Germantown (in Philadelphia.) Nature, however, insists on intruding.

Night and Day

The day rises to a world of expectation,
hope of better stories to tell
each other and ourselves.
Wishing that it were true
we plod along the rivulets
that were formed from the rains of yesterday.

But the river is so far away,
it takes too much to get there.
Too much pain and change
which may transform me.
Am I ready to swim in the currents?

Night falls without fail,
the colors fade into darkness.
A cold blanket, it is not reassuring
or compromising in its grasp.
But the moon is patient and
the stars flicker the light of another dawn.

Perhaps that is the night's beauty
in showing a path to those that are determined
enough to find it.
I will traverse the valley formed from those rains,
the streams will guide me.
And swim I will, in spite of the pain.

First Ride

A hesitant day, sunlight
with the scent of warmth
entices the rider into mounting his steed
and dive into that life of the road.
Where the motions of others become
a palette to process and interpret
as life and death depend on the same.

So he goes, aching and hopeful of the outcome
which he has many times experienced.
The smells, the sights, the being
of the rider as one with the road traveled
by many but not seen as he sees it.
An existence where there is synchronicity,
there is a realization of harmony.

The motor grumbles, unsure at first
but air and fuel in the correct mix
will elicit the intended.
Yes, we will travel, we will revel
in the space that only we can fathom.
An understanding that only a man
and a machine can traverse.

The journey begins, a map is drawn.

Ending winter

What is it about winter that is so intriguing? Having spent more than twenty-five years in Philadelphia's grip of extremes in temperature (i.e. blistering heat and all the humidity in the summers and bone-numbing cold with defeating blizzards in the winters) I am ready for the spring (again.)
Okay, I do like the change of seasons and the Northeast's appeal for many is just that--a variety of climates and a more defined sense of what you're supposed to be doing as determined by the weather. But the seasons do tease and taunt, and everytime you think you have control over your routines (climate-controlled of course) the next quarter of a different season takes over. And your routines are re-adjusted.
The last few winters have been somewhat somber for me. It seems the older I get, the winters tend to bring out the underlying sadness that permeates much of life. The temporal nature of life, the moments that elevate, the fleeting glimpses of beauty, the senses that intoxicate, the futility of surviving... I've seen a lot and have yet to see much more. But realizing that life is suffering has helped me to understand that it can be an opportunity to alleviate that suffering. Understanding and being aware of others can provide a mirror to understanding oneself.
Winter's sobriety does bring a certain balance to the psyche. But its forced seclusion can be maddening at times. Granted, the skeletons of trees with white whispers of snow accentuating their lines, the hush of a snowfall, the crisp and sterile air, all do have their transitory charms. And they do provide yet other definitions of beauty. But there is still an air of confinement. The lofty snowdrifts, the staggering blizzards, the moonlit nights of white, all have to be observed from a warmer place (be it in a heated house or a warm coat.) Despite the beauty, you still have to be sheltered in some way.
So it came and now it lingers, this winter will end in due time. But the waiting has a way of weakening even the strongest resolve. The promise of spring is one that I look forward to realizing. And if the crocuses have their say, that promise will be kept.

Beginning

I have thought about putting down some ideas, musings, and observations that I do not want to forget. The actual writing down of the same was always in the background of my thoughts and I used excuses to avoid the task. I needed a vehicle (or so I thought) and modernity crept up (not that I am a Luddite) providing this forum. So hopefully I can provide something worth reading and in the process get some opinions as well. I do come to the party late (okay, fashionably late.)