Nostalgia galore
Take a ride on the New York Central
A journey on White Mountain Atlantic
Over the Merrimack and Pemigewasset River beds
From 3,728 feet on Mt Kancamagus
Imagine time standing still
in your mind.
Travel all aboard!
All Aboard!
Category: Dreams vs. Reality
In January
Snow falls to the ground.
Gray sky, bare trees.
A chill in the air,
here to stay,
for today,
I'm afraid -
GRB
Dream Away!
Rainbow, overlooking a veranda, somewhere in California.
Stepping Stones
My journal is filled with disconnected ideas, weather conditions, and random thoughts. Days and dates, and months of the year quickly pass by. Yesterday marked the first day of Spring, an annual milestone, filled with new hopes and dreams, like a toddler taking their first steps across the room.
I don’t remember learning to walk, but will never forget when I learned to ride bike. One day, a small bicycle suddenly appeared in the yard, and I knew what to do. It wasn’t mine. It was borrowed, and I would teach myself to ride. No eyes watched me, and no one talked. No training wheels attached themselves to the frame, either. It was hop on and go, from the top of a small embankment of the lawn, down. The incline was slight, and the soft, fluffy grass protected me when I fell. The time spent balancing became greater than time on the ground, until finally I was sailing away. It only took a day, or two. Left to my imagination, in this crucial task of growing up, the way to build and sustain my fragile confidence, was to be left alone, to own the accomplishment for myself.
It just occurred to me that the photograph I took of the stepping stones, leading from the forest into the open field, can be a metaphor for every task I embark upon, in every new stage of life, like riding the bike. And now, as each page of the calendar gets turned, and every new season passes by, the uncertainty remains as powerful as before. But, to move along means to cross the stepping stones at every juncture, and make the most, of tous les jours.
The Same Way
People don’t always see things in the same light. Reactions will differ, from something to nothing at all. Even in seeing a blade of grass. The same blade of grass in a sea of millions of other blades, an observer might ask: why are you looking at that blade of grass? -singular, like yourself. – And if you choose to answer them they still may not understand. You simply have to move on.
December 3rd
On a walk this morning up the street, the sun was shining and the temperature was pleasantly nearing some 50 degrees. The wind blew at varying tempos, fast, medium and slow. The rays of the sun came bouncing down to earth, dodging shadows in search of objects to reflect upon. The brilliance glistened silver on small sage leaves of olive bushes dotting the landscape. A nondescript tree had tiny reddish-brown leaves that whirled and whirled like tops. They hung on fiercely to the branches. Wind and sun converged in the air as I remembered fragments of a dream from the night before, where I inhabited a town of mean spirited, and kindred folk alike. Where a child lost in a sea of water called his mother for help. Others swam against the current, upstream. I roamed in and out of empty homes trying to find a place of friendship, when finally peace-loving souls welcomed me in. Relieved to be awake, reality reassured me I was alive in Autumn.
And The Day Light Goes to Bed
The gray, white, fluffy clouds
hang low in the baby blue sky.
The constant moon glows, and shines,
high overhead.
The trees bursting with buds
incline this way and that,
like a pregnant woman ready to give birth.
The bunny rabbit scurries
under the dark olive bush
wagging its white cotton tail.
The street light ignites
suddenly above,
And the sun sets in the West,
on a horizon of many reds.
The clouds
linger in the darkened sky
and the day light goes to bed.
By TiffanyCreek
Taking Care
The snow was all around today,
The trees laden, of white fluffy stuff, emerged in the gray blue sky.
There was a chill in the air.
No birds were singing.
The sound of shovels could be heard.
The tread of feet crunched in the snow paved drive,
Taking care of early morning rise.
The day began for many a hurried man,
And woman,
Speeding by.
GRB
Much Needed Rain
As the day commences and the gray skies roll in, on this mid September day, I have thoughtless nothingness rolling through my mind. A vague recollection of a sweet dream, brought on by night fall’s misty stars. I try to wrap my mind around the blissful moment, but reality pushes out groggy sleep, to move onward with the tasks of the day. The vividness of the fantasy, moves ever further away, and I contemplate, that which comes next. The gray clouds loom over head, beckoning the arrival of much needed rain.
March is Still
In the forest, wooden trunks, and structures
stark in sunlight, stand tall in their multitude.
Sentinels ready to file into Spring,
without snow.
Inside, the cawing of crows, outside.
The ticking of the clock, on the mantel.
Shapes of sound, poured into silence
of time and space.
Lush earthy aroma of cinders in the chimney
permeate the air.
February, gone away,
March is still.
GRB ~ TiffanyCreek
On Tiffany Creek 