Brothers and Books

On the first leg of today's walk, I was alone with Cleo, who left me to my thoughts. And for some reason, I thought about my brothers. One is so different from me in looking at the world, but is one of my closest friends. One has distanced himself from me, and others. Another seems lost in a bottle. I'm left to conclude that I need to pray for them, not only because I want to see their welfare improve. I need to pray for them for the well-being of my heart and the growth of my soul. 
 
I was joined on the second leg by my wife. We took Thor, who seemed determined to pull my hand off. Otherwise the air was crisp and the time pleasant. My wife and I talked about books and the relationships of those who write them. I returned home thirsty and warm.

ay dog!
we haven't time
for every cat you see
or every post you want to mark
let's go!

Note: This post was written some time ago. I'm not sure why it never got published or if it should have been. But here it is anyway.

To the library

I have made a commitment in my mind to walk to the library two or three times a week (see how firm such things are for me already). This morning I took my first journey of the “Summer” (Spring still a technicality).

I started with an old headphone radio on my head, hoping that perhaps I could get more than the Tejano station I seemed limited to inside the house. Before I left the complex, I was sorry I added it to everything I carried. Maybe Royse City is a dead zone for music.

Better it is to enjoy the music of street anyway. Yet as I walked, some phrases from the new album by The Choir mingled with the tones of passing cars as I crossed under I-30. Though I’ve been walking a great deal more lately, I was already tired by the time I hit residential streets again.

Once inside, I tried to block out the sounds of conversations as I found a couple of books of poetry and sat to browse them, hoping for inspiration or at least an idea. Nothing came, but I did read some fine poems by William Everson.

wiping away sweat

the water fountain humming

lower than old hens

Buen Camino!

First Practice

With no car, I had to walk to the first practice of the Spring season. I worried that, as out of shape as I am, I'd be too tired by the time I got there.

The weather experts expected a serious thunderstorm, but it was moving east slowly from Dallas, and when I set out the skies were fairly clear.

I listened to Medeski, Martin, and Wood as I walked, carrying a dark green backpack with my cleats, shin guards, and water. I figured the time would go faster and easier, so I read from Proverbs from off my phone. I even paused to highlight passages about prudence and anger, remembering that long ago I used walking to get a handle on both.

to outrun the storm

my feet would have to forget

burdens making tears

Late

It has rained for several days here, but I cannot claim that as my excuse for not getting out, particularly as I was failing to walk (except for my coffee walks at work) long before the bad weather. But today was sunny, and I kept telling myself I should enjoy the sun and unstale air outside my small house. Of course I waited until nearly sundown.

I can't help but think such procrastination is a metaphor for much of my life. I wait until there almost isn't any time left, and then jump in, or rather crawl in, flailing with all the energy of a slug escaping salt.

Today I mourn a loss. I haven't cried about it, perhaps because I cannot believe the loss is forever. I don't cry, but it is hard to move. But move I must do.

i drink this shiner

not to remember, forget,

or honor your life

sipping from the brown bottle

i placate my bitterness