Being an artist, a poet, or basically someone who expresses themselves in ways that go beyond the standard humming and chants of chatter, can be exasperating for some who are around such people. Yet many of us expressive (As I like to classify myself) do try to find beauty in the mundane and even the mundane in beauty. I think of it as the dance of life and death. It never ends, it always ends. Good gracious, what ever am I writing about?
Where ever you are, in that moment, somewhere it is dawn. Somewhere, the sun is setting, or its midnight or noon. Someone is being born, someone is dying, and some are having a very boring day, and some are falling in love and every thing else that gets sandwich in between the moment we have life to when it is gone.
Here I am, sitting in an old wheel chair I used for my office chair. (That is another story, I do have my quirks). I have a zoo here in my small place, a stack of pills and another of bills, and I just let in a neighbor’s dog, that got locked out, again. I know where she lives, but I have never spoken to the woman who own him and that’s ok. She knows where I am, and I know where she is and we are both old.
I can see the stars tonight, the winter skies, while not as bright as summer, are still the clearest the skies have ever been, and it’s the new year. I like to take the long view then. Still, in spite of the cold, I stand outside, for as long as I can stand the chill, and a couple dogs do their nightly rounds on the tiny patch of grassy weeds I grandly call my yard. A yard made lumpy by tree roots, mud and rocks of a fake island and a lot of hope and dreams that have been planted, died, and planted again. I too have done the same. No matter the actual time where we are, one thing still remains the same, Earth.
My acts as an expressive person, is to find solace in the mundane and show the uniqueness of it and the comfort. I also hope, to show you the readers how to participate in the joy that you find of your own, if you are willing to see it.