Advent, Day 18: The Miracle Collector

(Day 18 of this year’s Advent series. Yesterday’s piece was about shoulder pads; today we consider note-taking.)

The Miracle Collector

The miracle collector
Comes around –
Most every morning,
For what others haven’t found
In busy streets.

Leave out the miracles
You passed by
And on your doorstep
You may find
A chance: tomorrow’s eye
To fill your time with byways,
If you try. 

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I spend a portion of each day walking. 

And I don’t just walk; I take notes. 

Every once in a while, I even look at these notes after the fact. 

Here is a brief sample of things that were found “noteworthy,” covering a span of about 12 months, and with only light editing for clarity and spelling. You may draw your own conclusions. 

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(Pleasant Valley Road)

Huge old white/cream rose bush now in bloom, overflowing the yard
Of the house that was in flames not three weeks back.

Gold leaves and scattered clothes and at least three different types of smoke

Silver sky through I-beam bones

Bloodlust, in block letter red
Paint, on sheetrock
Written

(Oltorf Street)

Section 8 apartments on one of the hills that shapes water towards the Colorado River, the lot used to be a mesquite wood. From its steps I still see:
Sunrise flung wide, or the high gold silence of early morning.

Incense down the hill, and the smell of Jasmine rice cooking

Ant mounds of hot red grit amid yellow soil

Clear flowing water down a concrete hill

Bullet casings and needles half-covered in mud, fallen gold leaves and children playing 

Mad koolaid scent of mountain laurel

Green and pink scarves to meet the children’s bus

(Riverside Drive)

A prayer strung on a misplaced knife,
Keychain-like

By the time the sunflowers came round the buildings were all gone

A bike in urban waters –
Did they think 
The turtles 
Needed Transit?

Rose-covered sheet and sharps, looking down over the bridge into a cart

A pair of children’s shoes on a bridge ledge 

Old water, rusted murky twang of steeping metal

Surprise fish in floodwaters, look down through air to see the stir

Desire paths to smooth the surveyed corners

Dragonfly crash-landing in sudden rains, clinging to the shirt under my umbrella (heavy)

(Govalle Avenue)

Smell of vanilla pipe, strong and broad, at the street crossing – no one in sight

Rubbered scent of lilies

Lizard chasing a cockroach across limestone at the bus stop, who catches who

White rose bush, early morning, hidden under dead branches

While spring pours around

Wardrobe (mirrored doors) reflecting morning

A lady who sweeps dust in front of her house every morning
What does she do when it rains

Pecan and snail shells, wild grape vines, terrible crunch of which?

Empty lot framed in grape arbors

Twisted grape arbors holding up an empty-windowed house

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I can’t exactly call myself a “miracle collector,” since I pass many more things by without noticing. But I can leave these things out on the doorstep, as an offering to tomorrow’s eyes.

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