Monday, October 17, 2005
Monday Oct. 17, 2005 - Year 3, Day 210 - seek a Treasure, seek a marbled rye
6C / 43F; frost on windshields abated, westerly breeze countered yesterday’s northern blast, full moonlight showed us the way, small yard pooches yap hellos in the dark at Gusta’s scent – they cannot see her but they know she is there
I met a new client - he operates a bakery; he gave me a wonderful marbled rye bread; what a gift to be able to give – now that, is a business card with impact
sometimes I sit a minute to ponder what moves me to express a feeling ? what moves me to move, lifts me to lift my eyes, what elevates my spirit to soar ?
not sure what the intangible ingredient looks like – it slithered away from me for a short while, but it’s back; we all seek Treasure - sometimes she eludes us, sometimes when we least expect it, we find her again
misspent time of youth slipped by without my noticing – I try now not to waste my minutes, but rather to invest them; each day I am thirst to taste new things, I push bigger rocks up steeper hills, I seek life’s Treasure like teenage boy pursues beautiful girl – tilting at windmills perhaps, but oh what windmills
the darkness that was Sunday blew away, Monday is here - time for another slice of toasted rye smothered in molten Skippy . . . have a great day
Mark
I met a new client - he operates a bakery; he gave me a wonderful marbled rye bread; what a gift to be able to give – now that, is a business card with impact
sometimes I sit a minute to ponder what moves me to express a feeling ? what moves me to move, lifts me to lift my eyes, what elevates my spirit to soar ?
not sure what the intangible ingredient looks like – it slithered away from me for a short while, but it’s back; we all seek Treasure - sometimes she eludes us, sometimes when we least expect it, we find her again
misspent time of youth slipped by without my noticing – I try now not to waste my minutes, but rather to invest them; each day I am thirst to taste new things, I push bigger rocks up steeper hills, I seek life’s Treasure like teenage boy pursues beautiful girl – tilting at windmills perhaps, but oh what windmills
the darkness that was Sunday blew away, Monday is here - time for another slice of toasted rye smothered in molten Skippy . . . have a great day
Mark
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