mother has always had a good opinion of me, showering me with care and concern, but father
writes handwritten letters and just wants to do yard work, he walked
with a dog and encouraged me to try new things with naked
abandon and brought me to the waterfront, bright blue sky, light green trees into
transporting music, poetry, murals and urban art that ended in a pond.
Have you ever tried recipes that look wonderful, but are too difficult to prepare? You may as well throw those gorgeous cookbooks into a pond.
Sometimes all you need is routine and rest. But no wants to listen and take my
advice. You want friends who will listen to you cry and offer to help. Who are great chefs and delve easily into
complicated cookbooks. You appreciate gifts of time with loved ones. And you miss your father.
It's good to enjoy a feeling of discovery, but also to return home and rest naked.
Strolling in sympatico, enjoying the closeness and proximity, you remember how you walked.
Hand in hand until a feeling of bliss surfaces, you and he walked.
and carried the belief that through small, generous actions the world can be made better all the way to the pond.
There are complications that are insensible until we come together naked
for all your good health, strong limbs and my
breath and our good fortune for living in these United States and gratitude to the founding father
there's the sudden and slow alignment of our behavior with our beliefs and the habits that we repeatedly fall into.
What I want are warm clothes, my favorite places, favorite meals, healthy teeth and something good to bite into.
Like an Arkansas Black apple. I want to travel by boat, travel by air, travel by foot. Yes, I walked.
All that way. However long I was gone I received weekly handwritten letters from my father.
He told me to embrace change, meet heroes and wished me success in my new adventures. In the end, I threw all the letters into a pond.
That first day at home was a great relief. Oh my!
There's nothing like returning home to rest in one's own bed and lying down naked.
As a child, as a teenager under the summer sun you enjoyed the freedom to run around or even Bungie jump naked.
You spent spring days planting trees filled with electricity and enjoying the great variety of senses you plunged into.
You had time to read and dream. You had libraries. If only, you thought, "My
mother would have believed I could arrive anywhere safely." When you had a night out, you walked.
As an adult, you arrived at a private club with candles and incense and long stemmed wine glasses and drank too much beside a pond.
Still, your mother always had a good opinion of you, and also your father.
You receive a great number of handwritten letters and wonder, "Who is this man, my father?"
He's a meliorist who just wants to do yard work and prefers not to be seen naked.
Welcome to the New Year when your father awakes and walks naked into a pond.
It makes you question your mythologies and wilderness and spellbinding planets. By chance there's a hero you want to run into.
A good doctor once ran along the river, the lake, the waterfront. Or maybe he just walked.
You reread father's letters to understand. Every sentence starts with, "My."
Father says, "You never know what you are getting yourself into. Human relations can be a naked struggle. You've got to remember that you won't have a choice so you'll find a way to communicate and get your ideas across." He never did though, until he walked. My love, even I am not sure what I am trying to say. The Earth's atmosphere is an effective altruist and also a pond.
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