holding up a flower

Bang and bing, zowee, three kitties and their hairy eyeballs stepped out from the background of my morning walk, a Wednesday version, slightly tweaked with the turn up Fir Street, before Grape, the climbing slants of tar changing places. Also a make-shift kitty paradise on a never-before-seen front lawn (Fir), makes me think there could be other tweaks periodically, keep it fresh, Bro, and just a tank top and chilly a little for a while, the energy displaced and the grace of clearing sky warming me up just fine prior to arrival back to B.

And the thin white-haired lady and her small pooch walking by again, another morning, and I’m pretty sure she gave me a sensual smile. I guess maybe me thinking encouraging thoughts falls smack back within fantasy and delusion, I’m trying to cut those off, but there is walking and there’s seeing and there’s smiling. In other words, the day unfolding without me translating a single thing about it – just cause and effect, kid. And I dig that.

And holding up a flower. It’s insanely wondrously remarkable that my life feels much about holding up a flower now. Every Blog post – a flower. Having conscious awareness of the words falling out in meetings, man, I ain’t got any requirements of what I ought to be or should be saying, and no hoping folks will like it. Just words as a helping flower, yeah, like Jacob Marley’s ghost Monday night. Lose the chains. Lighten the load, Pops.

Like with Massachusetts Bob and me on the Moonlight Beach bench late Saturday afternoon – after-divorce magic space – and him understanding where I’m going with the flower thing. Over here, this side of the street – some cat holding up a flower.