Tag Archives: nature


A few weeks ago, swinging high on a swing in the park, grasping the metal chains warmed by the sun, I looked towards the sky like I always do when I’m swinging. Swing forward, closer to the sky, swing back, further. Lean back, feet to the air, kicking the clouds. Let go of the chains for a while, reach for the sky. Touch its wondrous, soft blue that only a good day can bring about. Then fall back for a while and propel forward again.

It is only on the swing that I have the few positive philosophical musings of my life. It is on the swing I feel as if anything is possible and that maybe if we just keep swinging–keep moving forward, no matter how many times we are kicked back–we can achieve anything.

As I touched the blue sky with the tip of my fingers, I felt like I could grasp anything if I could touch the sky. The sky, however, is not the limit. With the breeze passing over my face, disheveling my hair, I knew I could reach as high as I wanted, even if the place I’m aiming for is beyond the sky–not in my world–because I’ll make it part of my world eventually: Whatever position I’m vying for, whatever career I am aiming for, I can make it one day even if it isn’t part of my world, life, yet.

Then, I got off the swing, with that sort of uplifting feeling warming me–as the sun warmed the black swing–and tripped on the steps. Laughing at myself, I got back to worrying and stressing out about my life and where I’m going with it.

Such is the life of a realist that insists on being a romantic.


Like Leaves, Not

Leaves fall like feathers, drifting gently down,
Why can’t we fall like that?
Why must we tumble clumsily like bowling pins do,
Embarrassing ourselves and hurting ourselves?

If we don’t fall like leaves, why do we heart-break like leaves
When they’re crunched under insensitive feet?
The sharp sound pierces the quiet, foggy autumn air,
But still goes unnoticed by most except those that are close…

And, why then, do we not absorb water like leaves?
Instead letting it slip from our eyes,
Raindrops falling from us instead of on us,
Just as uncontrollable as any storm.

Yet, we are as fragile as leaves,
The slightest winds that blow the wrong way,
May carry us to our doom easily,
Our stems, spines, bending to the will
Of even the weakest of elements.

We possess the worst qualities of leaves,
And leave the best, yet we still think of leaves
As a lower life form–rustling in the wind,
They’re laughing at us.


Enveloped in the warmth that was the air,
She embraced the dewdrops on her skin so fair.
Small gloves too tight on my growing fingers,
she reached out to see if this day would linger.

This couldn’t be a figment of her imagination,
hoping for a taste of tranquility, she opened her mouth without hesitation,
just enough for the slight breeze, coming from the west, to enter.
It tasted of plastic and metal.

She ignored the chill that suddenly overcame her,
a release from her orderly life was overdue.
She laid down in the withering autumn grass.
The power that the seasonally iridescent trees

and ever-blooming flowers had on her was overwhelming.
She spread her arms so that all of her could sense the humble warmth.
Though the peaceful breeze carried subtle scents of the land,
metal and plastic still lingered.

The ancient trees were rusty buildings,
the withering grass was scratched up concrete,
the colorful flowers were piece of litter strewn about,
the animal shaped clouds were invasive smoke.

She sat up, confused
and got back to work.