Upon the sand will I not build my house for when rains descend and floods overflow, the winds will howl and beat upon its walls and it will crumble, great will be its fall
I need no chandeliers, nor porcelain china, hand-painted with silver and gold, no dinner dainties with a fattened ox, content am I to dine on herbs with love.
I seek a shelter strong with warmth and light where rains and winds and floods can’t topple down and love burns bright in apple wood hearth fires and nightingale songs fill the evening air —-
Upon solid rock will I build my house, there will I find emeralds and rubies.
Today, a day amazing of sunlight sprinkles and skin-tingling cool wisps of springtime air, of parking decks and flights of steps to catch a hooting train, New York-bound —-
on the upper train deck, I read David’s psalm passages in Kindle app through local station stops (slow boat to China)
walked from Penn Station to 29th and 8th , my daughter met me in her Subaru and we snaked our way around the New York City traffic jungle towards downtown, found a lucky parking spot, had brunch with a window seat (Gwyneth Paltrow’s haunt)
walked almost a thousand steps throughout Soho and West Village, stopping for iced coffee, and afterwards dessert with prosecco (classy French place)
Back at Penn Station, hopped on the Northeast Corridor train to New Brunswick, a family with young kids, and an elderly couple who visited Coney Island, the grey-haired man said each year he spends his birthday there I caught the joy in the tremor of his voice.
I missed my stop. (first time after so long)
Next stop, Princeton Junction, the conductor announced, Thankfully Uber.
fetched by a shining light blue Tesla, (I was expecting a Toyota) driven back to New Brunswick station
Almost 10 pm. Elevator to parking deck out of service. Ascended the stairs, startled by a dark-haired man, shabbily dressed, spoke to me in Spanish, no more trains, he said, he will walk up the stairs with me
No, I said and ran back down to an almost abandoned platform save for a redheaded, muscular young male seated on the waiting bench. He walked up with me to the parking deck, made sure I got in my car safely. (he was an angel unaware)
Most this amazing day. (phrase from E.E. Cumming’s poem)
Teach me to number my days the way You number the hairs on my head, the way You are mindful of petals and sparrows as they fall with the leaves in the mist of autumn rain —
was it only this morning when my hair was in pigtails, as I dressed my dolls in pink dresses, dreamt of a fairytale prince upon a white stallion awaiting to take me to a castle hidden in emerald forests —
towards noon when I felt butterflies fluttering in clandestine chambers of my youthful heart, I met my first love and time was suspended, drowned in ivory clouds and endless blue oceans —
i can still feel the afternoon warmth when the children came and their laughter mingled with the melody of songbirds, the hum of restless cicadas —
at sunset my love and I rowed the silent rivers, built a bonfire upon the sand, held each other’s hand for warmth —
and now at twilight wrapped in the lavender glow, i treasure the dwindling vestiges of tender moments, the faint beloved song that will remain when evening falls.
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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