Tag Archives: Prose

Always Here

Africa painting by Mike
Africa – oil painting by Mike

So many memories of priceless sunsets.

Countless journeys into the wild.

Untouched nature touching the soul.

A continent balancing the past and the future.

Struggle mixing with hope.

Dynamic, changing, yet the same.

Perfectly captured in a simple painting.

Always in the heart, always here.

Somewhere in the World at 8 a.m.

waiting in the lounge A

I said it to her repeatedly: It’s morning already, my dear, not 2 a.m. She really didn’t listen. She was all set to hug the pillows, but instead she was sitting somewhat upright in an airport lounge, absent-mindedly observing the world go by. People of all colors, all denominations and from all corners of the world crossing paths briefly. The espresso machine was humming non-stop, singing its global song: wake up, it’s morning already.

That was of course true for some people, but I understood that for her it was still night, the Hour of the Wolf was slowly approaching. And yet for others, it was already late afternoon or even dinner time. That might have explained the gradual decrease in the liquid levels of the fine wine bottles on the drink counter, even when the clock on the wall showed 8 in the morning. Serve yourself – whatever your internal clock calls for. Her clock didn’t call for anything but sleep. But I was not in the position to serve her that, so I served her espresso and water. Over and over again.

lounge work space

A small minority of people clearly had slept in a bed that night, whether their own or someone else’s. Shower fresh and clear-eyed they rushed in and sat on the office chairs in front of the computer screens or plugged in their own gadgets in the little work cubicles. Doing some last-minute preps before meetings in another city while complementing their hasty breakfast with new selections. That seemed practical for the short-haulers, who were mostly, but not entirely, men.

modern lounge bath room

For the many long-haulers like her, it was good that the lounge had some facilities. This particular one was fresh and boasted modern sleek designs. She was not really able to appreciate the quite spectacular avant-gardisim, but I noticed she woke up a little bit after splashing cold water on her face. It’s morning already, I repeated, you can have more coffee.

airport lounge 3_edited-1

She had many more hours to kill and I noticed she was secretly dreaming of reclining lounge chairs, something like the La-Z-Boy design. She dozed off several times in the modern but uncomfortable leather chair. Her eyes shut and her head fell forward. Then she startled and woke up again a little. Repeat.

Every time she woke up, her neighbors had changed. Now a young couple spoke Hindi in the row behind her, a middle-aged man paced back and forth in front of her and had an argument in French on his cell phone, and yet another couple to her left spoke quietly in Arabic. Someone to her right snored loudly. She could hear an assortment of languages around her, some familiar some not. The world was adequately represented. And right there it appeared surprisingly peaceful. She could doze off once more. And I let her, somewhere in the world, at 8 a.m.

Below the Surface

Have you ever seen the world above the surface?

Not much of it, but I don’t even have the desire.

Why is that? It seems so exciting and beautiful to me.

It is beautiful alright, but it’s not all good.

I’ve heard that people have killing machines.

And that’s not all, almost anyone can have them. Pam, pam.

You’re kidding me? Even those who’ve done bad things?

 It’s  like giving bigger teeth to piranhas. How can that be?

It’s beyond me, but I’m not kidding you. That’s how it is.

Then I think we’re much better off down here,

in our own little world below the surface.

Friday on My Mind

Security line

blueberry muffin and espresso

  good morning from the flight deck

one hour to sun rise

earth’s still sleeping

dark taxi way

light winds –  outbound.


Up in the air

vivid dreams fully awake

engine lullaby

another coffee on the house

work week sharpness

one hour to landing

Friday on my mind – inbound.

Tuesday Afternoon

On an ordinary spring day, this Tuesday afternoon to be exact,

it was like nature had quieted down in anticipation of the storm.

Butterflies hid themselves in the colorful petals of the spring flowers

and birds had sat down in the shrubbery, seemingly having siesta.

The wind was light, barely stirring up a silvery shudder on the water,

but clouds were already gathering on the horizon, coloring the ocean.

I could sense the pull of silence, like a tender tug on my soul

by an invisible, but profound presence. And I felt so much alive.

beach view storm edited_edited-1

Monday, Monday

Good morning my friend, he says, sounding happy and full of energy. I don’t respond, but nod my head in acknowledgement.

It’s sunny and the wind is light, fishing is easy, he continues, looking cheerful. I don’t feel jolly or see anything exceptionally bright in this situation. It’s just a normal Monday morning with the whole work week ahead. Lots of fishing to put food on the table, many mouths to feed, nest to repair.

Still waiting for my response, he moves closer and whispers in my ear: Don’t you worry about tomorrow, you have today and that’s all you’ll need. Think about it, he says smiling, you have the gift of this day, use it well my friend.

Then he taps me lightly on my wing, smiles again, and walks away.

Life Plan

car on the map 2

You are my coach.

Everyone has a coach. One cannot get ahead otherwise. You will tell me what to do. Give me a plan for life. The steps and turns. Straightforward and easy. One, two, three. I can use a plan.

Instead you ask me what I want. I say everything. Like everyone else. You say, that means nothing.

You are my coach.

Everyone with everything has a coach. One cannot become somebody otherwise. Now give me a usable plan for life. The moves and spins. Effortless and clear. One, two, three. I can follow a plan.

Instead you ask me where I want to go. I say everywhere. Like everyone else. You say, that means going nowhere.

You are my coach.

Everyone who’s been everywhere has a coach. One cannot reach the top otherwise. Now give me a usable and complete plan for life. The dos and don’ts. Plain and simple. One, two, three. I can execute a plan.

Instead you ask me what my goals are. I say all of it. Like everyone else. You say, that means you have no goals.

You were my coach.

Christmas Spirit

old house snowed in

Christmas is knocking on the door

yet again

as it has done so many times before.

The old woman remembers

the Holidays of years past

her house full of life.

 Warmth and laughter

would blend with familiar scents

of Christmas foods and a fresh tree.

This Season she has no company

her home is silent

her garden covered by new snow.

 Memories flood her mind

beautiful images of Christmases past

fill her heart with joy.

She sends her love to everyone

grateful for her full life

she owns the message of peace.

Her quiet musings are broken

by a barely audible sound outside

the Christmas Spirit has arrived.