I ran the duck pond trails today: the cold wind to my face and rainbows from my eyes . . .
January 25, 2020
I often have long talks with my Dad in my head. He seems to have left lovely gobs and bits about. But I never get to talk to my Mom. Maybe she died too young. My thoughts and prayers for her are always blind. I've tried to talk to both, but it seems that only Dad can respond. Bill K Boydstun
January 24, 2020
I'm sometimes jumping upward and sometimes tumbling downward, even sometimes rolling curveward, but I have no stubborn standward.
I set and twitch the switches of my goals always hoping for some bit of control in case the world turns upside down. I may then tumble to end my role as Clown. My tenuous ongoing, endless cope is not to need to make amends but always reach tenderly toward friends sharing all our variety, smidgeons of hope.
In the Aztec design God crowds into the little pea that is rolling out of the picture. All the rest ex1tends bleaker because God has gone away. In the White Man design, though, no pea is there. God is everywhere but hard to see. The Aztecs frown at this. How do you know He is everywhere? And how did He get out of the pea?
January 15, 2020
Some of us are human; we are of different heights, shades and senses of humor; we have different genitalia and we speak a multitude of language variations and react to the sun and weather in a multitude of ways; we can and cannot drink milk without consequence or wine or other drink and we don't always realize our kinship and seldom recognize our variance from our sameness . . . we are sometimes stupid beyond belief, but we are also incredibly wise, and nice and full of grace, intelligence and expanding knowledge and, more often, even love and hopefully, full of continuous learning. . .
O' I've danced around, and even pranced around, but mostly just chanced around. I've made my noise and barely learned to whisper if it meant not getting burned. I can squelch it in or smile it out by turn. I live on a world as round as any sound, I am always spinning, spinning around: I don't quite keep both feet on the ground. Bill K Boydstun
January 13, 2020
I am a national treasure of sorts expecting we will shine with all our warts. I comb my hair and sometimes trim my beard and oft-times decide not to be insanely weird. I drink my coffee black and sip my Pinot Noir, mostly avoiding traffic at malls and such horror. I did not vote for mussolini nor for trump; I'd rather elect debris from the city dump.
January 12, 2020
Honestly, it's gotta be the best route to go from some point A to some further point B. Smiles beget smiles like flowers invite bees and the single thing we need to really know is to ignore those crowds of C's & D's and to decide we'll smile when we please.
January 11, 2020
I've moved from pillows sewn into sleeping bags to twin-bed pillows stacked to the ceiling to pillows covering corners of double beds before reaching a majesty of space in queen pillows. But only living into my 70's did I approach silver gates, the majesty of the K size, though still merely Q pillows. Should I strike forth for a pillow that reaches beyond this earth toward the horizons of exploding worlds? This may better fit the size of my on-going modesty and perhaps the containment scales of universal time.