When one’s wild mind is calling, camping
and crawling in a far, full, funny and fertile forest
of adjectives, adverbs, verbs, nouns and exclamations,
the warm arms and aroma of flowers and aerating trees
turn into silent songs and dances of happiness and healing.
One hears the hilarity of hills, the various scintillating voices
of oscillating valleys, the musicality of teasing and tweeting birds.
As l turn, twist and toast to the laziness and leisure and pleasure
of the weekend, putting words on the pages, l pause and wonder:
am l weekending or working? One of the bravest birds grins and chirps
as if advising: does it matter at all if you’re seeking to practice and perfect
your art? Doesn’t practice make perfect sense? Is this not your passion?
Dear beautiful bird, thanks! Passion. Perhaps its essence is in the silence
of learning, unlearning, relearning, reflections, rebuilding and relaxation.
May the full beauty of the weekend be your free time for reading, refueling,
enjoyment and development. May it be the heartbeat of fun and freedom.
