How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
There.
Sit, quietly and comfortably, where you are.
Acknowledge the gradient nature of progress as it happens with the shades of past days inflecting a presence we don’t often respect.
Take your time.
Feel. Where you are.
At the intersection of faith and contentment you will gradually find your way.
Think about it.
Set your intentions.
Now rise, slowly and purposefully.
Look up, not only with your eyes but with your neck engaged in mindful movement.
Release the stiffness in your bones, allow energy to radiate from the spaces between.
Let the weight on your shoulders dissipate as you allow the arms to simply hang as if they are not even there.
Inhale. Exhale.
Each breath is as important as the next.
Breathe.
Exercise thankfulness, first and foremost to your self and the effort you have just expended.
Hold that thought.
You have already begun to experience the day.
Gratitude will follow with your next steps.
Share that feeling.
Enjoy this day.
05/20/2024 j.g.l.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.