Ma
Mother Nature, spiritually speaking.
The shadow shined sunset on the city.
The wind slow-whipped and rippled.
Can light be a light bed sheet that cools
Like a night lit summer night?
Can the moon, indecisive,
Make the whole world?
Yes! Yes! Yes!
And yes.
Tonight, and sunset held the city
Skyscrapers in each hand
Like linen in the arms of
A languid launderer
Lap-thwap-snap
Snapping each
Thrice
Before:
clothes-pinning them
^to the horizon line^
~ Wynn ~
Transition Days
2024.07.25
2024.07.25
Good morning that wonderful way.
Transition days. I called them transition days.
My whole life.
There's something in the air.
A little off.
A little buzz, like a fortunate bee is in the room.
Not the stinging type, but the buzz is loud.
Perhaps it's a butterfly of many colors.
Some new patterned wings never seen.
Something slightly off.
Like you bought new shoes, they make you a little taller, bounce your steps a little higher, make the walks necessary for a day easier.
You're walking on clouds, the white joyful ones, happy they're there, it's a hot sunshine day.
They come in to douse the light for a bit so the trees can take a break from bringing the shade.
Trees and skyscrapers can rest easy for a few nebulous moments.
Some clouds are dark, though.
Some Transition Days bring rains, mist or downpours, winds: breezes to gales.
But most Transition Days are a slow haze.
Something is slightly off.
The old cliches.
Something is in the air, the winds of change.
The old sayings are true; there's wisdom in the adages.
Slow and steady wins the race... unless you're a cat on a hot tin roof then it's run, rabbit, run.
Situational comedies or tragedies, the old storyboards won't do on a Transition Day.
There's plant food in the pots, the dynamics change for a bit.
Something new from uncharted places flew into town while you slept.
Carried on the wings of The Butterfly Effect.
One rock tossed in the pond at the right place, at the right time, changes the whole world in unexpected ways.
Ripples reel in change.
Water in motion makes the sun come up tomorrow.
Life moves to grow.
Grow, grow, and grow!
At times that requires a change of direction, a sidestep.
The clear path won't do; uncharted terrain is the best way.
Every lake is a puddle that stayed.
Even lakes go for growth.
Every raindrop ripples to erode the shore.
Every still surface shines to show the sky it's beautiful.
Heaven's vanity wants more of the firmament's reflection and rains down to expand the mirrors, to shine back its own light, to touchdown more of itself, to join in on this symphony called Life...
To see the change.
+he Ghos+
⋈Wynn⋈
Brought to you by the emoji of the day: 🎼musical_score
The first Saturday morning in October at Massabesic Lake.
The world is in masks. The trees are in technicolor.
Autumn in New England, when Mother Nature reminds the Country what color really is.
Autumn foliage season begins in New Hampshire. The eyes only see 4k desktop wallpapers.
Professional photographers. Japanese family vacation photographers. Lesbian couple on park bench for breakfast photographers.
~ Wynn ~
That this matters. These words here.
Words.
That’s my insistence.
That what I do all day, and others can do too, matters to our world.
That sharing what matters most to us, even and maybe especially, only literally, matters to us as a society.
I work. All day. All day long, at this. Sharing insights one has when they sit alone with life, when they observe, when they see what helps and hurts, when they gather a new point of view to help others whose days look differently from the choices they make based on what they value.
Because the experience of living this kind of life, this quiet peace of place life, grants one the ability to mirror back the wisdom gained. And that wisdom is what’s so lacking from our day-to-day lives.
The empty pocketed billionaire alone with so much is completely devoid of the wealth I know. The wealth I offer freely is our true National Debt.
We don’t know how to be alone and value it. We seek out shock treatments to call happiness when they’re only distractions. We plot ways to rub up and down against each other for a quick hit of something to feel, fast fire, when what we really want is a fireplace in wintertime.
A slow mug of warm cider where we force another shot of Jägermeister to try and fill the void.
Hot fast club floor staccato steps when we really want a slow dance.
Flashing neon while we starve for candlelight.
Romance isn’t dead; romance can never be pixelated. We’re starved for it as a Country. We don’t know how to define it because we never define ourselves, never take the time to quietly sit and see what we alone can see while we’re alone.
The world is here for you to witness and share. We’re not made for friction’s sake. We’re spirit, the stuff of dreams. You are the dream of yourself. Take time to know that dream, to grow that dream. Then, spend your days in service to it and it will serve you back what you so starve for.
+he Ghos+
⋈Wynn⋈
Remove the ant-covered McDonald’s parking lot French fry from its beak, and a seagull is a soft soda pop bottle swaddled in the wings of an angel.
Where there are people there are seagulls.
Someone’s gotta clean.
Pro-tip #1:
Should you ever lose your group of humans on an afternoon hike, look to the sky.
Follow the squa… kyahs... And you’re sure to run into some humans.
Pro-tip #2:
Should the gulls in a hover appear more like hang gliders in a giant synchronized goth version of Swan Lake; those are not gulls, or swans, or turkeys or vultures.
Those are Turkey Vultures.
A Turkey Vulture, despite what acceptable Science tells us, are in fact Turkeys.
A larger, darker version with a significantly larger wingspan, which grows as part of the transformation into a subspecies known as The Zombie Turkey.
Pure terror. A demonic turkey with the wings of an eagle after a swim in a pool of hot tar.
Should you see one you’ll see at least five, even feathered zombies congregate.
Thank them.
Someone’s got to clean the highway.
Pro-tip #3:
Call the authorities. Find the nearest McDonald's (seagulls in the sky). Hold up there.
Should the self-serve soda machine lights start to flicker and the fryolator shake, you’re in the opening scene of a horror film.
Staring You.
Titled:
That’s No Bird!
But zombie birds alone aren’t enough to frighten you. The title needs something else…
Perfect!
Revised Title:
That’s No Bird! That is Something Else...!
No more seagulls in the sky. No more humans on the shore. You’re on your own. It’s coming for you. It’s on it’s way. What is it?
It’s Something Else.
Really, it’s really something else.
+he Ghos+
⋈Wynn⋈
She's afraid to hope.
The spider in my window;
She's afraid of hope.
Black Widow Beautiful
And she (yes, she!) is
Afraid to hope.
Could it be this time,
(Yes, This Time!) the grass
(Yes, This Grass!) is actual
(In fact, actual!) green.
Actual factual Green.
Gracious grass green!
Black widow spider
(What a heart!)
(What power!)
In my Window
Eyes on green
Actual (In fact)
Factual green
Still afraid to hope,
Afraid of hope.
~ Wynn ~
The secret to a good life
Is the secret to the universe.
Balance.
Balance what?
Light.
Mother Nature balances the Light.
Color is measured in frequencies,
So, color is the measure of the closeness…
Or better said…
the “nearness of the light.”
Liquid, gas, solid?
No and no and no.
Light.
Know the near-
ness of the light.
Color says so much about
The play of the ray of light.
Not a person;
A prism.
We politicize it.
We poison it.
Living color.
Life!
We go right for the history of:
The violence of intolerance and ignorance.
The fear is human categorical error.
No two snowflakes or:
Two tones of human skin
Are ever exactly the same.
~ Wynn ~
Snow last night.
Treetops
Rooftops
Road signs
Topped
Powder sugared
Magnificent.
Why scrub away Autumn's mess?
Let it soak.
Snow like scrubbing bubbles,
When they melt the mess goes with them.
Some metaphors stink.
Some similes are like scrubbing bubbles,
To do their best work,
Let them sit a bit.
Scroll down and forget 'em.
Come back when you can see clear,
What shines under the sludge,
What Springs Eternal.
~ Wynn ~