I am at work on my next poetry collection, just in case all the visuals on this blog had you worried I'd forsaken words. I frequently walk to a small urban pocket park near where I work. You could walk by it in a hum-de-dum and not notice it was there. Or glance quickly at the slice of trees and reflecting pool and just as quickly have it fade from view as your thoughts or smartphone claimed your eyes. But by going there through the seasons of my first year on this job, I am in the habit of observing this sliver of the universe. I worry, who will want to read my urban pastorals; what can I bring to this place that has not been wrung out of far grander minds and views? But that way of thinking never did me any good. I go, I respond. I send the poems like brief letters to the friendly ears of the world.
This is my true meaning of being "observant" since I don't frequent any churches or temples... The spirit is mine, in the end, my tenure on the bench, my allotted days... and it is good to slow down enough to see and feel a place with my particular collection of associations and skills. I write, I draw, I photograph the park. My eye is at the center but sometimes I push beyond myself and it is in those moments I hope to reach you.