My Words

Understanding the World through words

Under A Fig Tree

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What’s it like to die
under a fig tree?

“And every man shall plant a
vineyard and rest under his
fig tree.”

Was the prophet speaking
to me?

I’m resting under a shaded tree,
listening to the soft caressing
songs of distant birds.

The Mediterranean California weather superb.

A gentle fall breeze wisps intermittently
cooling my restless soul.

Oh God, I’m overtaken by your love!

You created this for me,
to enjoy the quiet moments,
to enjoy the splendor of nature.

Your creation.

You give me so much peace,
that my simple words cannot
describe.

Words fail me.
How can I explain
tranquility?

Or the vastness of a clear blue sky?

How can I describe the scent of an
orange and grape filled
Breeze?

How can I describe white butterflies
dancing in the air?

I can’t.

When I plant my fig tree,
these are some of
the things I want
to recall.

Breakfast At Nine

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Lounging in bed
I just woke up.
I check the alarm,
I have a breakfast date
at 9:00
with my wife.

We’re staying at
the Inn at Locke House
Bed & Breakfast.

It’s a well lived in
Victorian Manor.

It reminds me of the time
I went to an antique shop.
Curiously looking at trinkets
And what not.

There behind the glass were
A pair of gentleman’s gloves
Soft and warm,
well worn in
and meticulously
Preserved.

The Locke House
Well guarded and
maintained,
If you close your eyes
You can hear the conversations
From those days.

Conversations undisturbed
by our contemporary gadgets.

Conversations that
last a life time.

Every word well pronounced.
Every word has a meaning.

Those words still linger
In the corners of this house.

People cared back then,
people cared about life.

The walking gardens
Verdant, watered
with people’s conversations
Under shaded persimmon trees.

Where frolicking butterflies
Find their playgrounds,
Where frogs croak at
Full moon nights.

“What’s it like to be in paradise”
Said, one toad to another.
“You’re looking at it”