In Belgium,
As they get old they talk very close to one another. They lean in for emphasis and that is most often enough to make the point. Less hype, more being fully with. It’s a conversational nation. In some nations the space between things creates identity, here proximity is king. How physically close I am to you as we talk is over half the content. Americans tend to like to shout from across the house. Here, you come into the room with the person with whom you want to turn with or con (with) vers (Latin for turn as in reversal). Nice simple cultural observations in travel.
Simple observations today from a local pub.
The old man stacks and re-stacks the newspapers, after the drunk moves one, disheveling them for others. The elder, with shaky hands, carefully places the coasters and papers in their proper propped up order, revealing to us all of today’s headlines; it’s his domain which is left for him-to keep, at least, that much order, so we can see clearly. To straighten out the papers of his local pub. And everyone let’s him. As we should. Life’s tasks simplify at the end.
Ladies enjoying high tea in the lobby of Hilton. That was a fine trip actually. Lord thanks. I wish I’d have recorded it better. A couple of interviews with Sasha would’ve been cool. I’ve a gift there.
Take it easy today.
You got it.
Socks and shirt. Nothing else. Move to ca.
As it says on the back of one of my favorite James Joyce’s books (short story collage collection called, Dubliners) : “ordinary lives and the moments which make them extra-ordinary.” All of us both.
You alright then? I’ll have a look at the bank fer playing. You alright today? Talking to his dog. Just wait, things will get better. Come here. Inf need to take care of ya.
I
Like
To linger
A little
Past time.
I liked her fingers
In rain
That much I remember
And the way her lips formed
When she said
Jesus.
In the James river that summer
I was showing her everything
I knew by then.
We spun in water circles
In that river in thick summer
All the seeds went into the muddy water
Floating somewhere unseen
Beneath us. Probably upstream.
Julio’s house
The house was centered around a tree back then
Before he died
He promised to help
Bring the forest home. The garden into the center
Of the city. Whether he started to
Or not,
It was the warmest home
I’ve known.
Came across this in my journal today, written to some fatherly friends…
To Dave and Merton:
(and other, like fathers)
To be a father, you said
Is to go deeper into the forest first-
to create and become a clearing
for others to walk into, more easily. To love
like that, in that way is
the task of fatherhood, you say.
To become a way, to be
a tall clearing
for others to see the trees by from within
the woods.
Love went further than us all, into
That forest, I thought. As did you
friend and Father. Thanks, it’s all
Clear in here. I can clearly see each leaf now forming uniquely.
