Winter
7:00 P.M. Streetlights cast a warm, golden haze through the falling snow. The evening sky, milky and luminescent. I find myself pausing to catch my breath and to look around, midway through clearing a nearby parking lot for the third time today.
still unbroken
after all these hours …
the surface of snow
Sound Travel
Me, six or seven-years old. My mom and my next-door neighbor, however many drinks later. My father and his friend in control of the volume. Everyone feeling good. The decibels increase. The ladies let loose. Forty years later, here in Japan, Paul Simon sings to uninterested customers in a supermarket, and I just happen to be there.
You Can Call Me Al
a picture of mom
dancing
Existential Drama
Pensive. Thinking of my life. The lives of those around me. The lives of those who have passed before me. Some say we stay in this world for as long as there is someone here who remembers our names. Hmmm …
listening to
the snow melt
what will remain
Still Young Enough
Even in my favorite season, I still look forward to the spring—the promise that it holds. In all the heavy grey skies and sprawling white fields, I sense warmth, growth. As the cold wind whips down the street, I listen. I look forward.
dead of winter …
in my heart I hear
the warbler’s call
Here and Now
Looking at my students, their desks in neat rows, some of them are squirming, some of them are listening, some of them are staring blankly out the windows. I follow their eyes. The mountains in the distance look appealing. The clouds, with their variations of grey, look appealing. The path trodden in snow that runs along the canal, it too looks appealing. I feel what they are feeling as much as them, maybe more. It’s hard to tell. All these years later, I wonder, what was it that I was feeling when I was in their shoes?
school windows …
the appeal of doing
nothing
Mirrors
For better or worse, and in many cases both, the places we come from. The things that we are.
pictures of dad …
I see the father
I’ve become
City Life
9:00 P.M. Cycling home from work, slowly over the icy streets. I turn when the light is red and accept the route that the signals send me on. Tonight, I find myself in a back neighborhood, on narrow and empty streets. No one but me is outside, and yet, all around me there is proof that I am not alone.
surrounded by strangers
footprints in the snow
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