some days there is the need to walk softly
why hurt the wandering spider or ant
there has been enough death already

some days there is the need to talk softly
without raised voice or even a whisper
this is the time for tenderness

all days there is a need to love largely
with soft hands, breath and breasts
not bending even the most delicate blade of grass

It is the scent of my own neshamah:
Thai tea, that one tree,
the subtle smoke,
your hair.  

It is the smell of my own perfection
to be
that draws me in
and makes me weak. 

It is heaven inside weeping out:
it covers you
and it drunkens me.

Maybe it is just because I have fallen in love with riding my bike.  I had a bike when I was a child, but I also had an older brother that terrorized me and had trained me like Pavlov's dog, I suppose, so that with just the call of my name, "Peggy!" (as my family called me), I would scream and fall over like some bad gag out of the three stooges.   Because of this I have spent the majority of my adult life avoiding bikes and fearing riding near traffic.  But something has changed.  I have a new bike, I love it and suddenly I am doing all those things that I couldn't as a child... riding without fear, raising my hands over my head, just loving it.

So, maybe it was no surprise that when I had a free hour yesterday afternoon I jumped on my bike?  I rush out like I'm expecting something... maybe just that breeze that will make me say, "ah, yes, God!" or the light in the trees, or the smile on the faces of the people I pass.  Whatever, I went biking and I was given a gift.

As I rode through a local neighborhood I passed a lovely lady, a paraplegic who was traveling down the street in her automated chair.  I smiled and said hello and rode on.  It was about three blocks down that I saw a black purse/bag lying on the side of the curb and wondered if I should pick it up... and then thought about the woman I had seen and felt sure that she had dropped it, if not I should still find out and picked it up and began racing back the other way, where I had passed her. 

I found her turning back around to travel back in the same direction she had come from, but I had to stop when I reached the opposite corner from her because a bus was about to drive through.  I yelled, "is this your purse?!"  The smile on her face was so beautiful as she nodded.  We waited as the bus passed and I rode to the corner she was waiting on.  She told me "thank you, thank you, thank you,"  and she struggled with each word,and all I could say was, "your welcome, have a wonderful day!"  But her face was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  It filled me with joy.

I turned back around and continued on my ride and passed a jogger who had witnessed the exchange who yelled, "way to do a good deed!"  I smiled and said thank you.  But you know, it was myself that received the real gift.  It was myself that received the joy of that smile.  I think it was myself that had something returned that was missing... she had dropped it along the way that I might find it. 

The trees, the light, the breeze, her smile and the thought, "ah, yes, God!"