Sunflowers. Listening to a shuffling of Fusion songs. Working on a couple of tunes from Mahavishnu Orchestra.
Since I moved into my new house, I have been working on a poem/meditation loosely titled, "Postcards of Sunflowers." Most parts are short pieces, kind of meditations, kind of observations, much like my poem "Making Rounds," only a little freer with the verse. However, yesterday, I wrote the following part. Perhaps it stands on its own. I'm not sure why I am posting it here, but I feel compelled to do so.
I took a walk and heard
the sunflowers arguing about
Hurricane Francis. Some leaned
toward the leafless and said
it had come too soon. A few
bowed their strengthening stalks
and exclaimed that it had come
on time. A couple nodded toward
the healthy and declared the rain
had come too soon. The storm
off in Florida, I kept walking.
Only one sunflower had the guts
to tell me, as I left, “We
are only weeds. Why does it matter?”
Friday, I had an experience at Walmart that, unfortunately, is not unlike most times I have to go there. Some guy name John or Johnny was talking on his cell phone as he was doing his job of putting items back on the shelf. His basket had a sign telling people to refrain from putting stuff in. This guy was called over the "help" me find an item after the kid in the meat market couldn't help me. John walked me down several aisles (most of which I had already been down) before admitting he didn't know what the hell he was doing. Then he got a third guy who at least was honest about what he knew and didn't know. I'd love to say, "Avoid the Walmart in Rockwall." But this sort of crap happens almost every time I enter a Walmart no matter where it is.
Oh well, there is obviously more to say, but I have stuff to do.