Karinaland River

  Piercing   evening sun, fog is cooling, tempering august intensity delicate fragrance of quince seeps under skin gently… subtly… slowly… kindly just like that   a woman’s voice on the radio sharply defensive, anxious, fast, with urgency interviewer  quickly  tries to puncture her he a fervent sledge hammer just like that   we perceive perfectly polarized propaganda piercing us from all sides, I am right you are wrong, it works just like that   tempering our mood is a delicate affair, requires skill, patience – long view lowers the heat, no quelching but steadily relieving tension radical like that   really? releasing? letting go? when really, we need need need need need need all that speed might not otherwise all collapse? like that   messages of quince bring me back to earth, hands picking yellow fruit crawling into gnarly tree, imperfect shapes, beholden & beholding just as is   fingers on velvet fuzz, sensing golden goodness, in...

  Perpetual Promise   Sometimes people from the past appear out of the blue. Recently, a former long-time student of mine writes to ask about my current T’ai Chi classes. She is a memorable and lovely person, and a good writer.  “ I would so love to take one of your classes again — they still linger in my mind as times of great pleasure, peace and progress. ”  We catch up a bit on our lives in our e-mail exchange. I write back about possibilities for her to join. And we add to all the previous p’s: pleasure, peace and progress – possibility. This strikes me as a wonderful game. I add my own p’s as the days go by. There are word-wizards in the world, I am not one of them. But the palpable popping of the syllables is enticing. Just like the dry seed cups of my poppies ready to spread precious potential. Fleeting gentle explosions, play of lips. All the p’s pouncing…   Luscious memories of lingering on the floor with dictionaries. What is progress? I am on my belly...

How Little It Takes   Maybe just a ginkgo leaf falling into your lap? The winds of winter are blowing hard. Making me feel a little homesick and lonely. On my way home from errands, I spontaneously stop at the outdoor latke tent at Saul’s. This decision seems random, but it highlights my vague longing for comfort. Last day of Hannukah, dusk is falling fast. Solstice with its longest night. A warm rain storm to arrive soon. Everyone I am encountering today is kind. The tired cook fetches the last hot latke for me and asks if I like applesauce and sour cream. Yes, I do. He is generous with the applesauce, just the way I like it. I meander over to the bench to devour this snack which makes me feel home. An elder gray-haired gentleman sits there, quietly waiting for his take-out order. He looks kind. Me, an elder white-haired lady, completely absorbed in my latke delight, my own small world. Taking bites from the crunchy treat which is cooling down fast. Savoring. Entranced by tastes o...