Saturday, June 8, 2013

In this moment of this breath

I can see lots of flowery type things from my window right now.
I can see a crow stalking up the sidewalk and then across the road. It searches for scraps, bugs or whatever and then it takes flight. Guy on a mini motorbike drives by. A fly buzzes in my bedroom window. A kid and dad on bikes pass by. The sun is in my eyes.
A junky cackles away somewhere up the road. Seagulls go nuts over yonder for fish bits from the docks. A mom and daughter on bikes pass by, possibly related to the son and Dad on bikes from a minute ago. My roommates chatter. The sun is in my eyes.
An angry hooker with crossed arms walks by. A fly buzzes. Grass and flowers and life are outside my window.

There are still lots of cars driving past, looking for some kind of emotional soother. But not as many as i remember from my early days here over ten years ago.

A seagull with a puffed up chest proudly struts across the road in search for scraps. Plays it cool when it doesn't find any.

Bikes. Lots more bikes, and not of the stolen street working variety. More like the now united biking family who just rode by again or the few hip folk and commuters I often see riding past most days.

But still, there is this street level and its little demons and slaves who work openly right out in front of my bedroom window. The grizzled old hard livers still stumble down the sidewalk and the packs of jet fueled punker kids still holler 'fuck' into the night.

The sun is in my eyes. The sky is gorgeous.

That tree in our front yard is pretty rad. It could be healthier but look what it has to work with; chicken factories, junkies, hookers, discarded debris, people passing out against it, air soot. Noise.
A swinging arm as he walks Italian-looking guy strides up the road, chattering loudly into his cell phone. Business deals, probably.
Car alarms go off, traffic rolls by, and a Bob Dylan tune rings in the other part of the house where some roommates and company hang out.

The sun is hidden behind a bank of clouds now, but the mountains are pretty awesome.
A smoking guy in a cowboy hat who can probably walk speeds past on a mobility scooter.
The big red cargo cranes at the dock are a stark contrast to the mountains, but the mountains are beautiful.
Two hot women on bikes fly by.
The sun is no longer in my eyes and warming my face, but from my window I can count six wild growing flowers and another five human planted.
It's getting darker now and the clouds look like bluey mottled puffballs. Ski run lights on the mountain give a lonely glimmer.
A guy in sandals stops to admire the flowers, or maybe he's tripping out.

This is my home, my view, my moment, and I am grateful.