Upside Down Kris

  The Answer I was walking on a trail near my house when I found the answer–or, at least, an answer. It was packaged in a square paperback book lying on a park bench, as if waiting for the right person to sit down next to it. Maybe that person was me. At any rate, I picked it up and flipped through the pages, almost expecting some words to jump out and scramble together to make sense. Then, I noticed the title: The Boon of Tears .  Well, that was certainly a strange name for a book. I considered  tucking it under my arm to take home, but from the ominous look of the cover I thought again. It was all black except for some triangles representing the folds of a priest's stole, and from the blurb on the back I learned it was a murder mystery. Not what I was looking for in the woods.  However, since I was searching for an answer after an argument, it dawned on me that this small alcove facing a large oak tree was exactly what I had been looking for. It was welcoming me, inviting me int

Summer  Solstice It was the first day of summer yesterday and I wanted to greet the Sun with open arms. I lay in bed for a while watching the blinds letting in snippets of her: yes, her...because I  saw the sun as a goddess. I imagined her strong and powerful: a no-nonsense type of day star.  In fact, when I drew the shades up energetically the Sun blazed in forcefully. She was hurting me, burning her image in my mind. I closed my eyes and an orange blotch stained my vision. She wasn't in a sweet mood like she had been of late, softened by gentle streams of wind. No, yesterday she had an impatient glow that cut through the window. She moved out from behind the houses across the street, releasing her rays so they pointed a laser beam on my chest. I am in awe of the immense power of reaching she has. She doesn't want to be overwhelming her rays seem to say as they leave my chest to caress my bare morning arms. She tried to cuddle me with her embrace, washing me over with her warm

 Heat Wave There are at least two kinds of hot: the lord-have-mercy kind and the hallelujah kind.  Neither of them have a denomination: they fill everyone's air equally, no matter what your believe. The first hits your eyes like a mirage–you can see the heat undulating heavily in the air.  More accurately,  the heat sticks to the the air. The waves form visible static stay and stain your clothes and chairs.  Wet spots that attest to the weariness, that don't sprinkle or burst  but sink...sink into your skin, your brow, your brain...and   the brain fog settles on everything,  making you and the world around you lazy, leaving your legs like oozing glue on plastic and vinyl seats. Then, there is the hallelujah kind of hot that dances with the air current. It's the kind that calls you into it, that takes you on a balcony or into the yard. The heat puts on a natural show with the Sun, who is a crowd pleaser, and they both bask in your smile. The heavenly breeze that accompanies

Center Singing Last Thursday I sang in the city center. The heat that was richocheting off the heavy stones hit my head and sunglasses, so I followed the advice of another musician and moved to the shade. Maybe it was the too-hotness which set off the scene we'll see later. One woman paused for a whole song with her weight on the balls of her feet, projected toward me. Maybe I was singing Smile (you see the details we forget?), but surely it was a heart-wrencher. As soon as the last note stopped ringing, she rushed toward me and clasped me in a warm embrace. "I don't have anything to give you, but you are wonderful," she said. "This means more than spare change," I responded, hugging her back. And I knew it was true. During my last song (this one I remember–Hallelujah by Cohen), I noticed a young group gathered to my right. I wasn't worried because my senses picked up a good vibe rather than a sneering one that sometimes comes from teenagers. I found ou

The  Sound Portal I wake up to a squishy yet stuffy stillness. My almost bare legs wade through it, feeling the fuzziness of my robe swish against the non-noise, tickling its intrinsic harmony to come out.  I am drawn to the transparency of the doors in the kitchen. There are a few smudges that form question marks in my mind...what if these doors form a barrier to the sound outside? Usually the racket from the road squeezes in through the cracks and thin glass layer but today there isn't even a peep from the other side. What if walking through the glass I could break through the sound barrier? The hold of my hand turns the hard handle before I get a handle on my mental wanderings. Whoosh! The picoo, picoo from the pigeons, the smoothness of the balmy air seeping into the day, the constant drone of the bourdon hammering in the background...all at once, I am in the outside world, sucking it in. After a few minutes, I decide to heat the kettle for tea, so I close out the outside with