Broken mind,
Dancing pieces,
Pushing, pulling,
Breath comes home.

Cold wind,
Cold bones,
Clear mind,
Heart smiles.

Sleepy golden hairball,
Gently purring on my lap,
Bright, soft, little anchor,
For my wandering mind.

Faces in the mirror,
Looking back at me,
From the future and the past.
Whitch of them is me?

Late to work,
Late to eat,
Late to leave,
Late to live.

Cats are elegant creatures, they are almost like living sculptures. Something in them seems innately beautiful, as if they were quietly letting the whole world know how perfectly comfortable they feel in their own skin.

I must confess that sometimes I feel a bit of envy whenever my cats sit silently around me, just being themselves.
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Early morning,
Lazy Sunday,
Mind goes wandering,
Breath comes home.

Last Sunday I took mom to visit my dad’s remains.

The idea of visiting my dead friends and family has never really stuck with me, I can’t help feeling as if I was visiting a nicely kept firewood warehouse to visit the beautiful trees… I’d much rather walk in the woods and enjoy the living trees, keeping a fond memory of those already gone.

But I can understand how much we both miss him, and how we both try to cope with his absence, each in our own way.

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A present of beauty from my wife. She called me to the office just to say, “go to the nearest window and watch the sunset.

Where my thoughts come to rest.

A
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Posted on the road from my iPhone