Dec 7, 2020

where are you, old fool jobe?

A quiet house. I am up late reading Matsuo Bashō’s ‘Narrow Road To The Interior.’ The haibun are pleasing, and I fall asleep in my chair, just an old man with his book in his lap.

At night the house settles

The occasional creaking sounds

Are very welcome.



Notice the people. Many of them

Are searching for a place to hide

And the rest cry out, “Look at me.”

Where are you, old fool jobe?

Somewhere in between, looking up,

Watching the sun at it shines

From behind a silver cloud.



The lizard was small but quite brazen.

He ran out on the trail and stopped me

Right in my tracks to look me in the eye.

Yuba River, Edwards Crossing. Long ago.



ordinary genius, by kim addonizio

When the shoe fits, the foot is forgotten. When the belt fits, the belly is forgotten.



Having no destination, I am never lost.



When you make peace with yourself it's easier to make peace with others.



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