There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes.
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more...

-Lord Byron

Definition of Walkabout :

a short period of wandering as an occasional interruption of regular work
Showing posts with label Sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday. Show all posts

08 August 2017

Central Park Sunday

Sunday morning.

Mother's Day.

I sit on a brick bridge watching ducks tread the waters of Central Park as a man gently plays a saxophone for change.
The parks slowly fills with joggers and couples with the morning paper in hand, looking for a bench to sit and finish their coffee and read. I mention it as this activity is becoming a rarity.

Parents caution their little ones not to venture into the dense foliage as they feel the park is not safe. The homeless I see in the public bathrooms are nothing but nice to me as they wash their faces and ready themselves for the day.
A Buddhist monk stops to give me a peace bracelet. I thank him and offer a small donation in return.
 This simple act of kindness lightens my heart in the best way possible.

17 March 2015

smell*bound

Sunday morning in Portland, a light but steady rain was falling. I had a few hours to kill before heading to the airport, so I tried to see what I could do downtown that would be inside.

Powell's City of Books. Covering a city block and only a few minutes from my location, it seemed ideal. Upon entering though, it was more than ideal.

It was a dream. I was smell bound.
Simple wooden shelves housing countless stories from ceiling to floor. I was wonderfully trapped in a world of limitless imagination, wonder and history.
I wander up and down every aisle, every floor, every section, taking it all in. I was reunited with an old friend. The feel of the paper was electric on my fingers.
Powell's also houses some great works of art in the empty spaces on walls that shelves couldn't be placed. One could sit on a comfortable bench and read under the artwork, or just stare into the painting....
They also have quite the collection of typewriter's, all of which are now antique items. To the younger people in the bookstore, these were quite the spectacle to see ( Daddy, what is that?).
Like a needle in the hay, I finally find a book just for me. Making my way to the coffee shop in the store, I open my new purchase while the rain continues to fall, ever so lightly but steadily, onto the streets outside.


08 September 2013

Soup.Sunday.Football.

The morning begins with the frying of bacon, the smell fills the house as the television is turned on. I'm re-acquainted with old friends on the pre-game shows.
I set aside a pile of crispy goodness, using the fat to cook hot Italian sausage. The ole factory senses are working overtime as kickoff begins.
I cheer loudly with the first score, a good way to start the season. Between commercials I dice potatoes and onions, remove the garlic cloves from the oven and squeeze out the goodness.
Halftime and a cold drink finds it's way to one hand, the other playfully cutting fresh kale.
Saute and simmer, stir with care. A little dash of spice and fresh cut tomatoes are added to the mix. The concoction is ready as the afternoon game starts.
Taking it's time to perfect, my version of Zuppa Toscana soup is ready as the fourth quarter commences.

Victory is in air.

My favorite day of the year.