December 26, 2011 § Leave a comment
I set down my book as the carols play overhead and latte and drip are ordered at the counter. I remember the holiday presence.
Nostalgic, I loudly hear the restroom code asked for. Twelve-ten the barista says, lidding a plastic cup, not even looking toward the guy who asked for the secret code.
What would we do without humanity’s secret codes, huh? The everyday chores and routine mean nothing without the knowledge needed to get to the things that really matter to us. If no goal or want, desire or care leads us to the next thing, then what is the use of anything?
That’s what I think at the moment anyway. Was it last week? Sometime in November? Is it all a fictitious recreation. . . . There’s something in there, somewhere. A secret code, maybe.
December 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
December 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
For years now I’ve noticed how those women and men without regular shelter find the most exquisite places to rest and, possibly, sleep. So do those that drink beer from forty ounce bottles that end-up askew by a tree or rolled-under a shrub, some wrapped in lipped-over brown paper.
Today, creek side, the thought comes in as I take a morning walk through the Hazard Wetlands. Other days, evidence of these urban sages comes as I hike Griffith Park or Radio Hill or on some beautiful old bridge across the LA River.
My walk continues and more thoughts. When will more people, maybe with regular shelter, find these almost–sacred spaces? Will they, or will the beer drinkers keep green spaces, architectural marvels and citywide views to themselves?