Art is everywhere, if you choose to look.
   Lately, as the weather becomes a slightly more pleasurable each day, I am taking the opportunity to get back out on the streets of Toronto to observe what really happens here.
   Last Thursday, on the way to an appointment, I was fortunate to notice something I had never seen before.
   Just about any day you’ll find Ross Ward hunched over on Yonge Street tending to his art. The ‘Birdman of Toronto’ has been a fixture on these streets in various locations for well over a decade, and during each day he crafts, and sells, palm-sized birds.
   Once only a hobby — this is now more than whittling — Ward carves out shapes of common birds from reclaimed wood. There is always a piece in progress, and always a small flock for sale on his concrete workspace.
   Perhaps in our day-to-day journeys, we don’t look close enough at all the people. We don’t often observe enough to see art just happening here and there on our landscape. I’ve wandered this street how many times and only last week did I notice the man. I saw him again on the weekend.
   Appreciating the beauty of his work, I bought a bird as a gift for someone . . . or maybe a souvenir for myself to one day remember my time in this city.
   Couldn’t we all use more memorable hand-made art?

 05/06/2024                                                                                  j.g.l.

Hesitation is seldom efficient.
Moments become a weakness.
Alone. Struggling with the blur
from one day to the rest. You
try to see the hidden meaning.
Will you write the right words?
Finding certain rhythm, sorting
out time. Each step or notion,
guarded breath or concurrent
emotion. Seconds, then minutes,
comprise a day. No silence with
solitude. No path. Today. Clues,
random dogma, unclaimed truth,
passive aggression, as you work
your way through to the answer
in plain view. Mystery in the grid.
Seeking substance in this puzzle.
Will you look again tomorrow?

© 2020 j.g.lewis

     Morning observations rarely register
             as we wake and wander our way 
             through infant hours. 
It takes a moment for 
the mind to come alive while
the gravity of the day settles in.
               We fail to notice little things,
   considerably more substantial days ago, 
   perhaps once meaningful or spiritual,
   now displaced as the second hand
   of the wristwatch sweeps onward.
       Afford yourself opportunity 
   to be distracted by butterflies, soon
   a scent of lilacs, freesia, even the taste of
   spring rain or requisite morning coffee.
       In days so rent with common 
       occurrences, look beyond 
       what is there.
 
05/02/2024                                                                                 j.g.l.