here’s my mother walking towards the camera Pall Mall between her fingers and Mamie Eisenhower hair her lips are moving and she’s squinting into the sun, the lens making small dismissive gestures with her free hand I don’t remember what she’s saying to my dad it looks like: Oh don’t take any of me…
then, here’s my dad, way up on the stepladder leaning against the second story fixing something only he can see then I see her, I mean me spinning a blue hula hoop
I’m older now than both of them were in that moment I know how and when each of them died and I’m much older than the girl who was myself I’ve learned some things, information she could have used back then I’m just about to tell her when suddenly the reel flickers she’s bathed in pastels, white circles disappears
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.