Skimming the not so poetic surface by L J Frank

Image for Writings
Credit: Jean Philippe-Cypres, photographer

 

Early morning walk on the sand grains of a Lake Huron beach with a gentle breeze embracing my skin, the fragrance of nearby tall white pines filling my nostrils, while a single seagull walks a non-linear path, looks over and continues her morning search, a flock of Canadian geese fly over-head v shaped, honking, otherwise, just the sound of waves lapping the shore…today, another effort to write and perhaps wrap things up, and listen to some classic and jazz rhythms on my laptop while I strive to uncover the right word…my thoughts naked and wanting.

I take a deep breath and as I walk towards a path in the nearby woods and my car sitting in the distance I notice an old man, a middle-aged woman and a child, too skinny to estimate her age. A family. Homeless. Indigestible fat covering their bones. They glance and the man nods and I return the greeting. They are huddling around a small campfire in tattered clothes. The poor are always with us is an empty rationalization – by those with money in their pocket. A starving mind is not the preferred choice of the dispirited human heart. Poverty is a form of violence.

An ancient Egyptian, Amen-Em-Apt,1292-1075 B.C.E., wrote on a piece of papyrus, “Beware of robbing the poor and oppressing the weak.”  Anguish follows big lies, for neither poverty or wealth build character, as the road is steep on the downside.

I walk to my car in a mostly vacant dirt parking lot with scattered rutted tire tracks from a rainstorm earlier in the week, I suppose symbolic of life itself. And I know the song of compassion fulfills the needs of the soul while laughter helps circulate the blood and a smile is always good for the heart…still a disquiet amid the quiet, a haunting season, as leaves of Aspens flutter in the wind.

The moment has its own reality as I drive towards a dwelling to continue writing in my book.