Observation – December 5th, 2020, Saturday

The floorboards are creaking above me

A reminder that I do not really live alone

Kitty is curled up in a ball on the couch

I hear the deep rumble of engine outside

Small branches swaying in the light breeze

Dark slender finger, against the pale sky

There is laughter somewhere down the block

People are walking outside, riding bikes

There is no snow on the ground, no ice

It is warm for Minneapolis in December

Observation – November 5th, 2020, Tuesday

Coffee on the terrace of the penthouse

Morning on 49th Street, Radio City

Rockefeller Plaza, a few hundred feet away

Columns of concrete, glass and steel push up into the powder blue sky

Green-copper spires reflected in mirrors one thousand feet tall

Their soft patina wavering in the sunlight

A curious pigeon comes to greet me

The sounds of the city are pressing

A steady drone of HVAC permeates the atmosphere

Sirens wail and saws whine, over the drone of engines

As the arhythmic clang of steel on steel fills the air with hollow waves

While all around me hammers fall

The city hums with a ghostly bustle

Observation – September 5th, 2020, Saturday

The long September sunlight reflects off the sandstone and red brick of the building across the street, filtering back through the green leaves of the maple outside my window.

The window is open; there is traffic on Bryant and a rhythm to the sound of tires on pavement, as car after car rolls by; Kitty is sleeping on the ledge by the sill, curled up on her side.

I see patches of blue sky through the limbs of the tree.

The air in the apartment is cool.

There scent of cinnamon and cloves lingers in the air, I made eggrolls.

Observation – June 5th, 2020, Friday

The city is green

It is summer and it is quiet—right now, at 4:00 pm

If I think about it

I can recall the sounds of gunfire

That woke me up in the middle of the night

The quiet lays on Minneapolis like a green veil

The city is restive

The demand for justice is simmering, now

Seven days ago, we were at a roiling-boil

I can smell the ashes lingering—still

The chemical scent of unnatural fire

Scratching in my throat

Observation – May 5th, 2020, Tuesday

It is a bright morning

There is a plane flying overhead, though the city is quiet

There is a robin chirping in the tree outside my window

My lady is working at loom, weaving on a hoop

Kitty is begging for butter

Seventy thousand Americans will have died

From complications due to COVID-19

By the end of today

The news is increasingly grim

There are politicians telling us to prepare

Be ready to lose more

Americans must be ready to sacrifice

Like they did in World War II

This time we march into the jaws of a faceless beast

To feed an economy, that is hungry for our lives

As valuable as kibble, scattered on the floor

Observation – April 5th, 2020, Sunday

The house smells of peppers

And garlic and onions

The rising sun lights up the sky

Soft blue, almost white

The street is quiet, quieter than usual

So quiet I can hear the gears turning

In the empty bus that rolls by

The birds have noticed the change

The fox and the coyote too

There are fewer people to contend with

Fewer cars and people walking

Fewer things to fear

Observation – February 5th, 2020, Wednesday

It is chilly outside, but not cold for February

The sun is shining through a cloud filled sky

Pale patches of blue speak of an early spring

Kitty is sleeping by the window as I write

I am listening to the news, it is a sad day

Donald Trump is to be acquitted of his crimes

America has become a lawless place, maybe

It always was a place of deep divisions

Where the laws are applied differently

On behalf of the rich and against the poor

Maybe nothing has changed at all, America

Is just naked now, reveling in all its flaws

Observation – January 5th, 2020, Sunday

The sky is bright, light
Blueish-gray, matted by clouds
Thin as wisps of frost

There are a few leaves
Dried things that cling to the trees
Flutter in the breeze

Outside my window
Dark limbs stretched across the pane
The old glass cascades

It bends the soft light
Waving in its fluid state
Windows on the world