The Passing of Time

Little Cemetery

When winter passes
and spring flies by,
summer makes a short stop,
to say hello.
And up starts autumn,
once again.
Then, everything dies.
A complete cycle
is made,
time after time.
And with each season,
you return to a familiar place, but each time,
everything has changed, a little bit, or, maybe a lot.
You remember, something,
someone…
and the emptiness inside of you…
well, it fills up with sorrow,
and sadness overwhelms you,
but, you fight back the tears with the surrounding beauty, and
the colors wash your eyes, and you forget.
And every time after, you think you are alone, in a place,
and maybe you are, and maybe you aren’t.
A new face, or name,
a fresh encounter
You never know…
No one really does…
It’s the passing of Time.

GRB

Before I know it…

…this year will be coming to a close.  Here we are in September and so much has happened since January, 2014. I have been to so many places and done so many things.  January 2nd, we managed to arrive to Philadelphia, along with the storm called, Hercules. Actually, we arrived a few hours before this great storm, just in time to avoid travel in a blizzard.  Comfortably settled into the hotel in the evening, it began to snow.  We decided to venture down the street to a highly recommended restaurant called ‘The White Dog Cafe’, on Sansom Street.  By the time we left the restaurant, the storm was really picking up.  I took some exquisite street scene photos of the lights, the falling snow on the street.  Also, a few of some people, especially of a happy girl drinking a soda or coffee in her hand.  She was all bundled up in her jacket with a furry hood covering her head and framing her face. She posed for me and smiled splendidly.  A lovely example of positive energy.  The whole scene on an old street of brotherly love with picturesque street lamps was beautiful, not only because of the way it looked, but because of the surrounding silence in the night, with the snow falling and the magical tendency snow has to make everything silent, as it blankets the environment.  It softens the earth.

The next day, Philadelphia was an absolute frozen mess, with unplowed streets and subzero temperatures, which kept everyone inside.  I felt like the world had just ended and I was the only one left from humanity, walking around.  That is definitely a ‘forlorn’ sensation.   As I ventured along my way, eager to go to the old town where Independence Hall is located, I soon found out that everything was closed, practically, except for a few coffee shops, here and there, one of which I went into, hoping to thaw out my frozen feet.  I lingered there when I ran into a delightful, middle aged couple who were visiting from, at this moment I can’t recall, but it was somewhere in Europe.  They were very friendly.  They were here for a wedding and quite shocked by the weather.  When the Philadelphians finally got up enough nerve to get out into the streets and open up the major visiting center, and the Liberty Bell, I too departed the café and began walking around the streets, taking photographs of the historic buildings and sites.  There was so much of interest; the old bank turned into a Portrait Gallery, Independence Hall, Ben Franklin museum, which I didn’t care for too much for its overly done approach at resuscitating a man’s character and creating a commercialized hero.  It contained very few authentic artifacts, one reason I like to visit museums.  We do this so much in this country, and mostly for the sake of historical men.  This is not to undermine the importance of historic accomplishment, but to just state my humble opinion of the unrealistic manner in which we place our ancestors on a pedestal, and fail to look at all aspects of their person.  I suppose we are all guilty of it.

In sum, what most impressed me about this visit, was walking around the empty streets of Philadelphia, and taking pictures as I navigated by foot, this very interesting city, of course, always looking for an opportunity to get out of the cold.

Without more ado on this subject, the routine of everyday life is beckoning me to move forward in time.  A new season approaches with mid September and before we know it, 2015 will arrive.  Oh me, oh my!  Without rushing the clock too much, I hope to be back with the events of the present year.  It’s hard to handle the rapid passing of time.

A little girl

I met a little girl yesterday in the locker room at the swimming pool.

She was sitting on the bench all calm and cool, and barely uttered a word.

She sat with her hands folded in her lap and just smiled as two younger women gleefully doted on her.  They might have been her aunts, cousins or older sisters.  One might have been her mother.

They told me her name was Alice and she was soon to turn three in a few days.

Then the talk of the birthday party came up and Alice began to open up, little by little. We talked about everyone who was invited and how excited she was.  She was going to have her grandparents and three friends.  She didn’t know their names.

Alice was the sweetest thing in the world.  I think of the goodness that awaits her, I hope.

She was extraordinary!

 

The random birds

I love the randomness of some birds, and the order of others that you see, when they fly, or perch. I guess fair and unfair, can happen in this way. Like good luck and bad luck. And then sometimes, there are outside powers in control, and some who are dependent on these powers, to make it fair. It should not be this way. They are not free, like the random birds.

Why?

Why do I create and then destroy? – Only to regret it later.

Why do I build and then take down, wondering what it was that I made in the first place.

Why am I always torn between opposing forces, searching for order, ending in chaos.

Why can’t I just accept things as they are and embrace love, without hate, without doubt, and bliss, without pain.

Why?  Such is my condition, I cannot escape.

The Girl, with the ~ Hay!

The last couple days have brought me inspiring moments, and situations, where I have discovered people, who were, seemingly reveling in the simple state of being, or utter happiness.  One took place today, and the other yesterday.  I will start with the one from today, since I like to go backwards in my approach, like the Chinese who rise at dawn, and walk with their backs against the morning sun.

Today I went to a garden center to get various items.  While I was pushing the cart around, searching for things I needed, and didn’t need, I saw a young girl, of 16 years or so, also pushing a cart, and on it was a small bundle of hay, all tied up.  Somehow our eyes met. She exuded an undefinable delight,  an energy from within, and without, which united me with her, like a converging of souls in the universe.  While the experience of her energy was flowing through my outer aura, I asked her, “What are you going to do with the hay?” As she smiled, and laughed, and lifted her arms up into the air, bringing them down in a circular motion, she said; “I’m going to do a ‘faaaall thing’!” The Spanish sounding ‘a’s’ resonated, as if cascading, in mid-air, creating a sort of waterfall effect, after which and without explanation, we both let out a hearty laugh, and walked our separate ways.  Before doing so, however, I of course, with practicality in mind, suggested that the hay might come in handy, that is, if she were going to seed the lawn. That made no sense to her whatsoever!  She was young, and had no reason to worry about lawns.

So I went on my way, looking for mums, and such things, when our paths crossed once again. I noticed that the hay wasn’t there anymore, and so I said: “What happened to your hay?”, to which, she replied, with a slight downward turn of her lips, and a silly frown on her face; “She made me put it back.”  I turned to look at an unsmiling woman next to her, whom I presumed to be her mother, and I said, to her; “but she was going to be creative, and do a faaaall thing”!  And the mother said, “Over my dead body!  I’ll not be picking up bits of hay, all over the place.”  So that was that!  I looked at the girl, who was still smiling, and back at her mother, again, and thought, “Some people just don’t understand.”  I knew it was best not to interfere, and so, with a smile, I bid adieu, and went on my merry way.

Well, there is another story of inspiration, but I think it will suffice to tell another day.  As for now, and later, I await with eagerness, anything, out of the ordinary, something extraordinary, that comes my way.

Carolina Klingelhoets – July 13, 1907 9 months & 6 days.

Carolina Kincelhoets

Truly, a fascinating cross of beautiful wrought iron, it marks the grave of a baby girl, named Carolina. At nine months, she would have been getting ready to walk. It is in the East end, and older part of a cemetery. Walking into the front of this cemetery, one would never have dreamed there would be a marker like this one. Most are of your typical granite, names of grandparents, siblings and even parents of children, with whom I grew up. All very important reminders of past memories. This cross, however was unique. Furthermore, the name, Carolina, is not commonly given to post-war girls of Mid America, and Klingelhoets, whose origin I couldn’t find, is not a surname you come across everyday.
Most of all, this marker is an indicator of the unknown past of a place I thought I knew so well, and a place whose mundane and boring environment from which I was so ever eager to flee. Coming back here, though, I find out things, I would never have dreamed of and glimpses into a past that leaves so much to the imagination. Whoever the Klingelhoets were, they certainly left a beautiful reminder of a child they loved, who walked out of their lives, much to soon.