Tuesday, July 17, 2007
one lept off - Tuesday, July 17, 2007
today’s Musing written and published from south Calgary, near Fish Creek Park
17C/63F (high 29C), it will be very warm again tonight; sunny sky, more haze than yesterday, crews have reduced the lagoon level – Gusta noticed – so it is quite a drop, 8 ducklings huddled on a rock awaiting parents return, one duck lept off, the rest followed, paddling, choosing when to follow, who to follow, when to go straight, where to turn
ducks in a row, thoughts organized, things figured out, plans made, plans laid, plans to plan - connections we make with people . . seem to connect like trickles that flow to creeks, creeks overflow banks spilling into new ravines, carving new paths before finding their way - invariably reaching some ocean somewhere, the flowing slowly and gently eroding rough edges of everything it passes – like those ducks, it is hard to notice any day over day, week over week impact – but time, experience and direction wear the path smooth and easy flowing in due course, our illusion of our duck organization often intact, paddling in search of direction
instinct causes steering, less inspiration – more gentle hand on the tiller helps navigation when I’ve been too distracted to notice or care, focused less on direction, focused more on shifting gears on something sporty, accelerating through the next hair-pin turn, exploring rolling landscape, taking time to feel the heat waft over me, the experience impact me – the after-play of choices made in a moment, made yesterday, made a long time ago
when we are young, the path still far from clear, edges are rougher, flow less smooth, ultimate
route incalculable, less fear, more leaping - vacationing #2 daughter Krista breezed through town yesterday; dinner with her, my dad and her new-beau was a great little treat to round out a full busy day
inspiration comes, sometimes, from bold thoughts, brilliant quotes or a big event of the previous day – more often it comes from a gentle thought of floating between the place we’ve just left and the place we will land next, the place between ditch and road where holding up, holding on, driving ahead, opening a big sail to gather an accumulation of wind forces taking me where I want to go as heat rises, day breaks - today leads somewhere
choosing which new shoot of growth to nurture, which one to prune – every day a million mini-choices enough to drive Frankl to distraction – not every path or inclination is for us to explore deeply with abandon, some for Frost’s kind of ‘another day’, I choose life with me – confusing as it might be sometimes - choosing direction, choosing a dog, choosing when to lead, choosing when to follow . . what to follow . . who to follow; when to go straight, where to turn
the notion we are like dog breeds we choose (or was it the people dogs choose?) may have merit; some are golden retriever types which might only mean we have some similar tastes – or maybe we are cosmically aligned in other ways; some are lap dog people, some lean toward hound dogs, some prancing poodles, some bound through life like the flow of an Irish Setter, coat rippled by the wind running through field of green; to KC and others who wonder about Au, or ‘ah’ prefix for Gusta; she certainly is golden; naming her was a challenge many of you might remember – Augusta, golf’s-Mecca and first given name of my mother and of her mother, August is my birth month, gust is derived from the Icelandic word gusta which means a spurt of wind and, as I researched it, Gusta is a fairly common name/nickname in Europe . . generally associated with a beautiful woman; having found those commonalities, that seemed the right name for a beautiful pup who has morphed from chic-magnet pup to pretty young girl who likes and licks everyone excessively, directionless, leaping
heat rises, gotta run
Mark Kolke
223,440
201.0
What do you think? Join the discussion - your comments are welcomed - please write.
To subscribe to Mark's Musings daily email distribution, write to musing@maxcomm.ca
©2007 MaxComm Communications, all rights reserved.
17C/63F (high 29C), it will be very warm again tonight; sunny sky, more haze than yesterday, crews have reduced the lagoon level – Gusta noticed – so it is quite a drop, 8 ducklings huddled on a rock awaiting parents return, one duck lept off, the rest followed, paddling, choosing when to follow, who to follow, when to go straight, where to turn
ducks in a row, thoughts organized, things figured out, plans made, plans laid, plans to plan - connections we make with people . . seem to connect like trickles that flow to creeks, creeks overflow banks spilling into new ravines, carving new paths before finding their way - invariably reaching some ocean somewhere, the flowing slowly and gently eroding rough edges of everything it passes – like those ducks, it is hard to notice any day over day, week over week impact – but time, experience and direction wear the path smooth and easy flowing in due course, our illusion of our duck organization often intact, paddling in search of direction
instinct causes steering, less inspiration – more gentle hand on the tiller helps navigation when I’ve been too distracted to notice or care, focused less on direction, focused more on shifting gears on something sporty, accelerating through the next hair-pin turn, exploring rolling landscape, taking time to feel the heat waft over me, the experience impact me – the after-play of choices made in a moment, made yesterday, made a long time ago
when we are young, the path still far from clear, edges are rougher, flow less smooth, ultimate
route incalculable, less fear, more leaping - vacationing #2 daughter Krista breezed through town yesterday; dinner with her, my dad and her new-beau was a great little treat to round out a full busy day
inspiration comes, sometimes, from bold thoughts, brilliant quotes or a big event of the previous day – more often it comes from a gentle thought of floating between the place we’ve just left and the place we will land next, the place between ditch and road where holding up, holding on, driving ahead, opening a big sail to gather an accumulation of wind forces taking me where I want to go as heat rises, day breaks - today leads somewhere
choosing which new shoot of growth to nurture, which one to prune – every day a million mini-choices enough to drive Frankl to distraction – not every path or inclination is for us to explore deeply with abandon, some for Frost’s kind of ‘another day’, I choose life with me – confusing as it might be sometimes - choosing direction, choosing a dog, choosing when to lead, choosing when to follow . . what to follow . . who to follow; when to go straight, where to turn
the notion we are like dog breeds we choose (or was it the people dogs choose?) may have merit; some are golden retriever types which might only mean we have some similar tastes – or maybe we are cosmically aligned in other ways; some are lap dog people, some lean toward hound dogs, some prancing poodles, some bound through life like the flow of an Irish Setter, coat rippled by the wind running through field of green; to KC and others who wonder about Au, or ‘ah’ prefix for Gusta; she certainly is golden; naming her was a challenge many of you might remember – Augusta, golf’s-Mecca and first given name of my mother and of her mother, August is my birth month, gust is derived from the Icelandic word gusta which means a spurt of wind and, as I researched it, Gusta is a fairly common name/nickname in Europe . . generally associated with a beautiful woman; having found those commonalities, that seemed the right name for a beautiful pup who has morphed from chic-magnet pup to pretty young girl who likes and licks everyone excessively, directionless, leaping
heat rises, gotta run
Mark Kolke
223,440
201.0
What do you think? Join the discussion - your comments are welcomed - please write.
To subscribe to Mark's Musings daily email distribution, write to musing@maxcomm.ca
©2007 MaxComm Communications, all rights reserved.
