31 flavored daze

yes, exclaimed elf, we made it through march. march was a real adventure.

what did you do, queried weary bleary eyed orphan. 

oh, i had so much fun with the kids, like us. they were young curious playful energetic experiental wild and free.

that's a long verbal sentence, laughed orphan.

life is a long laughing sentence, said elf.

can we go out to play now, asked orphan.

yes, let's take the day off and be creative, said elf.

please give me a hug, said orphan, people need five hugs a day for emotional well being.

elf hugged orphan.

orphan hugged elf.

pee wee play

a kid who had no idea
what was going on besides i want
grabbed for the yellow plastic ball
mine mine mine he screamed in Lao demanding

ball kid gripped tight
grimace
pulling away

suddenly 
four armed pee-wee power stranger rangers
with interlocking plastic
red, yellow, green, blue 
guns entered the fiasco 

hand it over or else
we blast you with our supersonic death ray
grabbing kid looked astonished
distracted

ball owner ran away
laughing, you can't BE serious

A bubble girl story

Greetings,

A wise traveler named Hugo, the Director of a Life Improbability Research Center near Paris dropped me a comment asking for the story about the Laotian bubble girl. 

Here it is. One day I walked through Luang Prabang and reached a dirt path leading down to the river, a bamboo bridge and distant weaving villages. At the top of the path three young girls were selling, or hoping to sell hand made colorful wrist bands, small wooden beads and bamboo dolls. Same as at Angkor temples.

In the afternoon when I returned they were playing with thin plastic air filled balls. Her eyes held all the secrets of the world.

Like many kids they attend school either in the morning or afternoon.

It's the same universal story, "We need money for our families." 

Keep it in the air.

Metta.

A new gallery of Stung Treng town and area is live. It features the Women's Development Center (Mekong Blue), primary school kids, the wat and flags at Thala Bovivat. Enjoy.

http://tmleonard.squarespace.com/stung-treng-cambodia/

Full count

Greetings,

Runners on 1st and 2nd. Two outs. Full count. 55,000 negative charged cream cheese people yelling at Brian. He steps off the rubber. The rookie catcher gives him the sign. Down and low. Low down and dirty. Dirty and clean. Howie stands in menacing his weight, leveraging timber.

Play by play announcers speak drama. He hasn't had an extra base hit in the series.

The crescendo of weeping white towels, shrieks, anguish, and the pitch. They pitch insurance and insurance runs, cars, stock houses, horses escaping gravity, Formula.

The stare in. The windup. The pitch. At the knees, called 3rd strike. Howie never took the lumber off his shoulder. The catcher screams, jumps, runs to celebrate. Howie turns silent staring at 55,000 stunned people.

Their season is over. Finished. Happy Hallowed gallows. The thrill of defeat. The agony of victory.

Hello S.F. bay. Water music and multiple planes of reality.

Metta.

River

Greetings,

I flow a thick deep brown. Heavy wet season rains rinse my desire. I clean the world of perceptions.

I increase my fish productivity and cause havoc for low lying homes, flooding humans out. They swim in the mainstream. My current is strong. It has no boundaries. Water wears down stone. 

Joy is seeing endless green rice paddies waving for miles in every direction. White cumulus clouds dance in a blue sky. The green penetrates my eyes. Green releases me from the stone cold dead glass and brass cities trembling fear. 

Joy is a boy doing a perfect back flip off a hill into my river. Joy escapes gravity. Joy joins his friends laughing and swimming. His father casts a net as serene shimmering strands arch over water sailing into green. My river renews life.

Orange robed monks reflect my calm surface. Turbulent roaming charges may apply in the curious dimension of laughter's gratitude.

My awareness bliss flow is this transience. You can't swim in the same river twice.

Metta.