listening love whistle blowing

by walterdoege

somehow I feel me better after throwing away my blues through writing…perhaps because I could share the concerns…after sundown, at spring almost summer, a hot day…I like autumn and winter…what can I do?, if not accept the season’s dance…somehow writing is my mistress…some personal space…some builts I can share, for building from a serene and tender architeture…improving the fourth ecology: digital world…this navigation in the web sea is hard to me, but I sense the flow of the sailing boat…emotions and sentiments shall be listened…and reason too…although creative process is random, inspirational, some impulsive, some high drive putting words after words, as bricks after bricks…in a short walk I listened the bells toll…and I listened some soft words in a brief talk…writing is also a struggle with some echos of older readings, recent readings, recent appreciation of music…I feel this echo as the legacy of other art workers…tempest…thunders in sky after sundown bring some relief to the heat spring day…writing and reading stay close…reading in a brad sense and meaning…as some song I am composing while I’m writing there comes a lyrics of a music…tempest, a sweet music…from listening this tempest I can listen the love whistle…love whistle nay be loud or soft…allegro or adagio…allegro ma non troppo…listening to love whistle blowing put me on the long road…love path…my work recognize the legacy of those I feel me close…so, listening love whistle blowing is always taking the good path again…in a brief walk at a shoppingcenter today I listened the people voicing…children talking and playing…families parking…some indulgence I am trying to put into practice…love whistle, signing peace and freedom…joy and trust…near holidays parties…the look of the moon…the sparkling arrangements for the parties…the art of living…I sensed the winds after the sundown tempest…spring tempest…and the love blowing in the people voicing…blowing in the winds…happy new days…happy futures…al least, love whistle is a matter of sweet surrender of trust shared living…living is a simple, hard and sweet surrender movement…like the sounds I listened at the airport lounge…arrivals, departures…hope…till I noticed her in between the passengers…I listened the love whistle blowing during a lovely embrace