New sidewalk graffiti since yesterday morning's walk. I imagine someone sneaking into the cemetery after dark with a flashlight and painting the cemetery pathway with a spray can of red paint. It seems such an odd thing to do. Yet the act of blogging is odd, too. Writing often to readers who are mostly strangers. Is it about the need to touch in some way? No matter how elusive or distant the touch? And then yours truly comes along with her camera and takes a picture that turns out to be more of herself and less of the angel on the sidewalk.
Juggling the camera, the glaring sun and the dog's impatience, caused me to lose the feather that had drifted down to my feet. I felt it was a gift or omen and still I lost it. Several years ago, a psychic visiting from Canada told me that I am constantly being sent messages from the Source - and consistently ignore them. I was thinking about her recently and that I hadn't seen her in 3 or 4 years and a phone message last night informed me that she's in town right now. We're meeting up tomorrow for breakfast. Some things I don't question. It seems that if I'm not getting the messages, the universe asserts and aligns - although why the universe cares is still a mystery.
navigating back to safety
Time to sink into the safety of knitting. Crooked Little Scarf by Ann Hanson in Tosh Merino Light. The color "corsage" is so much of the season, the pattern easy and satisfying. As I work on it I think about the long letter I received today from one of my designated "sisters" and the long response I wrote back. My brother used to say jokingly (but maybe not so): "relatives you're stuck with, friends you choose." I've chosen a handful of sisters in my lifetime. And after reading an entertaining (dare I say "enlightening"?) book called
Breakfast With Buddha, I'm in a certain frame of mind.
wind grows stronger, bends
trees from west to east still
singing as I try to decipher
elusive lyrics
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