Relaxation is that special moment between completed chores and the next one when my mind is free of cares and could just focus on recreation. It is that time when I could let imagination go and find some words for a poem, or my hands could draw mindless doodles,
or sing at the top of my lungs even when the notes are off, or play the violin even when my fingers more often than not cannot find the right notes.
“The Art of Healing” by artists Cedric “Vise 1” Douglas and Chepè “Sane” Leña. The mural could be found at the former Medfield State Hospital in Mefield, MA. According to Google’s AI, this mural ” was inspired by the site’s history of using music and agriculture as therapy for patients.”
It is time to do silly dances and spend time with my beloved.
“No One But You” by textile artist Susan Polansky, picture taken while the artwork was on exhibit at Attleboro Museum.
When the season allows, gardening provides (both work) and relaxation. While gardening itself can be quite tiring, it provides so much joy that even the physical exertion itself is rejuvenating. Happiness more than doubles when flowers and fruits start showing.
By then, I would the proverbial joy of smelling the roses,
picking some flowers, and arranging them in a vase.
I am afraid the road no longer remembers the young feet that used to walk its rocky dusty surface stretching from here to there and kept the village a well-kept secret from outsiders
My aged eyes behold a road gleaming black under the tropical heat snaking away from the the old artery cutting through neighbors’ yards and childhood haunts
Traffic moves through these once nonexistent roads that have now opened this humble village into the bustling world
Where are the chico and the mango trees that used to feed a ravenous youth?
My eyes look for the old footpaths that guided my youthful steps but they have grown bigger, got new names and now would rather be called streets
the open spaces that welcomed children to play hide behind cement walls. Houses, huge and grand, rise behind wrought iron gates.
I look for the familiar places and familiar faces and find them only in memories
The old village has moved on with time and wears progress, ah! change, like a crown and makes a stranger of one of her own
yet,
Blessed be God, the bougainvillaes let me know I am still at home.
Some friends would never grow old, and forever would have the pink of youth on their cheeks. They’d ever have dreams twinkling in their eyes and the hunger for what comes next. But the hunger would never be satisfied, neither would they ever see whatever would be. Yet, their laughter always ring, their voices always bring comfort, and their faces always bring joy here in my life blessed with their memories.
The scent of a rose The grace of a summer day Drifting towards night
In the woods, the sun was like a spotlight shining on the lichen.I was trying to capture the setting and almost gone sun and the halo that it cast on everything.The sun was almost overhead and I shoot towards the shaded area to frame the flowers and the butterfly.
The pictures were taken at random times and places: from the woods, from a Fair, from our backyard. I do not know or remember if I consciously took the pictures because of the shadows except for one or two where the shadows were making distinct patterns which I wanted to be the picture, e.g., the shadow of leaves on the wall. Most often, it was the light and how it illuminated an object and separated it from the rest, or just made it look different that drew my attention, e.g., the illuminated umbrella, the lichen photos, and the dragonfly photos.
This is my second entry to the Shadowed Challenge, hence the title of this post. The first one is a more personal account of my visit to the MIT in Cambridge, MA which can be found here.
Last weekend found me inside the halls of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Never in my dreams have I thought of myself walking the halls of that illustrious university. However, our 9th grader was able to enroll in the MIT Spring HSSP program, a university outreach that offers both academic and non-academic courses for 7th to 12th graders .
We arrived at Building 10 where my son was supposed to register at around 11:30. Building 10 turned out to be the main building of the campus. Its central lobby was full of eager teenagers and watchful parents and at that hour, bathe in morning sunlight.
The lobby was spacious and grand with two story glass walls interrupted by three ornately framed doors. Sunlight illuminated the golden inscriptions on the beige marble walls, gilded the people in its path, and drew shadows on the walls and floors. It was so mesmerizing, I could not help but take pictures upon pictures from that lobby alone.
Because I was waiting for my son to finish his activity, I had a few hours to walk around and take pictures. I walked the long corridors and found out that there was another big lobby on the other end of the building. This one, I suppose, would get the afternoon sunlight, but as it was still relatively early in the day, the lobby was still in shadows when I took pictures of them.
I was not sure if outsiders could explore the other spaces of the buildings, but I dared go up to the second floor to see more. MIT itself has limited space and its buildings were built close together leaving a little courtyard between the buildings. In early afternoon, the shorter buildings fall into the shadows of their taller companions.
I spent the rest of my waiting time in the central lobby and passed the rest of the time watching the shifting light and shadows. The shadows got longer and eventually, there was only the darkened room, the reflections on the floor, and the quiet of a day coming to a close.
Finally, we were on our way home. Above the streets of Cambridge were glass buildings reflecting the lights and shadows of their neighboring places. On the sidewalks were the long shadows of people rushing to their destinations.
And that included mine which I took amidst my teenager’s protestations.
The wind whistles as it blows Depositing snow on doors and windows. Where has our garden gone? There, beneath three feet of snow dumped on the ground.
And the neighbor dares shovel a path; insane! the drifting snow keeps coming back . A car slides on the snow-filled road What urgent need made him rash and bold
From the warmth of our home, I watch the world while I dream of tulips peeking from the ground A few days ago, spring seemed so close But here in New England, who knows
What February or March would bring- An extended winter or an early spring? The blizzard whirls and will soon get spent. In God's hands, nothing is ever early nor late.
The poem was written while the blizzard was swirling. I wrote it to remember the storm, a kind we have not encountered since a decade or so ago. Our place received 30 inches of snow in one fell swoop, to add to the already existing snow on the ground.
The most painful part was the shoveling. With this much snow, one of the biggest issue was finding a place to dump all the shoveled snow. This is the condition of our road on Wednesday, two days after the blizzard and after the travel ban was lifted in our area. The snow plows had a difficult task cleaning up such humongous amount of snow. Good sunshine and above freezing temperatures on Thursday and Friday helped clear out the roads to their blacktops.
when snow covers the ground and the world is at a standstill let our voices ring
ring of cheer, ring of laughter even if they be a dream we can make them real if we just sing
sing of our aches until they break sing until our voices tire and our bodies fall sleep
Be like the sparrows flitting and chirping in whatever seasons brings
sing! sing! let not the gray silence win over your heart, over your soul let your good cheer ring
sing of the weather sing on the shower sing by the fire sing of your desire
sing! sing even as you read and think Sing as you toast this day, then drink Yes, sing! Sing and be merry while
(I write this sitting on the kitchen sink*.)
*from I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith
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A response to DVERSE Poets’ PUB’s Poetics Tuesdays prompt, Beginnings are Endings. For this prompt, one is asked to use one of the quoted opening lines as the ending of the response poem. Here, I used the line “I write this sitting on the kitchen sink” from I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith.
The pictures were taken at the local Rennaisance Faire from many years ago.
Thank you for coming by and reading. Be happy, sing and chase those blues away.
Two summers ago, I was looking for ideas for a picture. There was one aging calla lily in the garden and I was fascinated by its form. I paired it with a violin to see how their forms would combine. I think they complemented each other in both texture and form.
MY WALL 