4.22.2026 – find a crystal sea

find a crystal sea
ran along with skip jump at
random, fancy-free

Always the world has ever been
A fairy-land to me.
No road was just a common road
No tree a common tree.

Each road was an enchanted trail
To find a crystal sea
I ran along with skip and jump
At random, fancy-free.

About each tree-trunk hung a spell
Whose pebbles, bits of glass
In hidden nests were images
To bring my dreams to pass.

I never went a-journeying
But that I ended lost,
For I sped down the avenue
A-flame and fancy-tossed.

Ah me! my life has ever been
A fragment from a jest
Torn from the tangled web of dreams
That gossamer my breast.

Dream Life by Georgia Douglas Johnson as published in The selected works of Georgia Douglas Johnson by Georgia Douglas Johnson (New York: G.K. Hall, 1997).

According to Wikipedia: Georgia Douglas Johnson (September 10, 1880 – May 15, 1966), was an American poet and playwright. She was one of the earliest female African-American playwrights, and an important figure of the Harlem Renaissance.

Throughout her life, Johnson wrote 200 poems, 28 plays and 31 short stories. In 1962, she published her last poetry book, entitled Share My World, the poems in which reflect on love towards all people and forgiveness, showing how much wisdom she has gained throughout her entire life.

4.5.2-26 – why do you look for

why do you look for
the living among the dead?
remember, told you

Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” Then they remembered his words.

Luke 24 (New International Version)

Workshop of Peter Paul Rubens – The Women at Christ’s empty tomb (1640)

3.26.2026 – yes, you’re going to

yes, you’re going to
die, but, you know, we all die
eventually

Based the opening paragraph in the article, Do we really need eight hours sleep a night – and what happens if we don’t get it? by a Mr. Joel Snape where Mr. Snape writes:

‘Once, after I did a presentation, someone came up to me and said, ‘I don’t get eight hours of sleep a night. Am I going to die?’” says Prof Russell Foster, head of the Sleep and Circadian Neuroscience Institute at the University of Oxford. “And I said, ‘Well, yes, you’re going to die. But, you know, we all die eventually.’”

Which brought to mind Big Bill and the speech of Hamlet which I paraphrase here:

To die, to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to.

To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause—there’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life but that the dread of something after death, makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all ...

I must be getting old though a recent location chnage has dropped me on an island where the median age is 62 I am middle aged again.

On that theme of getting older, let me talk about the best part of my day of late.

My after-supper nap.

I ask, why don’t I feel as refreshed as I do after my after-supper nap as when I wake up in the morning?

I read all these articles about sleeping.

We all have to sleep.

We all are going to die.

All I want is to feel refreshed, like I do when I nap, when I sleep all night.

Mr. Snape writes:

… the best advice is to prioritise sleep: recognise that it’s important, make sure you’re setting enough time aside to get as much as you need to feel well rested, and make the most adjustments you can to your current sleep environment.

“If I only did one thing, it would be invest in proper blackout curtains,” says Leschziner.

“And if you live in a noisy environment, then consider comfortable earplugs that are designed for sleeping in.”

So I ask, what do I do about the neighbors?

3.21.2026 – happy restaurants

happy restaurants
still exist, don’t go often …
like a local church

Adapted from the article, Applebee’s and Ihop unite – will new ‘dual’ restaurant tempt back US diners? by Adam Gabbatt where Mr. Gabbatt writes:

Perhaps the truth is that some Americans have been guilty of indulging in nostalgia over patronage when it comes to Applebee’s and Ihop: people are happy these restaurants still exist, in the same way they are about a local church, but they don’t actually go that often – also like a local church.

I am reminded of the last lines of the movie Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby.

The family of Ricky Bobby included his estranged parents, girlfriend and children are standing out side the Talladega Superspeedway when Reese Bobby looks around.

The movie closes with this bit of dialogue.

Reese: I gotta say things are pretty much perfect right now. And it’s makin’ me kinda of itchy.
Ricky: What’d you say we all get thrown out of an Applebee’s?
Reese: Yeah that’d probably do the trick.

Maybe we all need to go get kicked out of Applebee’s again.

And a local church.

Yeah that’d probably do the trick.

3.21.2026 – where the sweep of

where the sweep of
the harbor tide comes in, I rest
dream, sit on the deck

Based on the poem, Waiting, by Carl Sandburg in Other Days as published in The Complete Poems of Carl Sandburg, by Carl Sandburg, Harcourt, Brace, New York, 1950.

Today I will let the old boat stand
Where the sweep of the harbor tide comes in
To the pulse of a far, deep-steady sway.
And I will rest and dream and sit on the deck
Watching the world go by
And take my pay for many hard days gone I remember.

I will choose what clouds I like
In the great white fleets that wander the blue
As I lie on my back or loaf at the rail.
And I will listen as the veering winds kiss me and fold me
And put on my brow the touch of the world’s great will.

Daybreak will hear the heart of the boat beat,
Engine throb and piston play
In the quiver and leap at call of life.
To-morrow we move in the gaps and heights
On changing floors of unlevel seas
And no man shall stop us and no man follow
For ours is the quest of an unknown shore
And we are husky and lusty and shouting-gay.

On my first morning bike ride as an Islander …

I pass this way each day that I drive to work.

I would take a photo with my phone held in one hand as I crossed the bridge in the middle of the island.

Now I ride my bike to the edge of the marsh.

I can sit and I will choose what clouds I like.

In the great white fleets that wander the blue.

As I lie on my back or loaf at the rail.

And I will listen as the veering winds kiss me and fold me.

And put on my brow the touch of the world’s great will.

Oh for the life of an islander.

Still working though.

But a lot closer to work.