My Kind of Blue

I wrote this while I was in Thailand.  It was one of those miserably hot, humid nights that leave you staring at the ceiling in the dark wondering what the hell am I doing literally on the other side of the world from where I'm from.

Right now it is 3:35 A.M. I am awake, and making Mama.  (Thai version of ramen noodles, except a lot better)



Right now it's 3:42 A.M. I finished making my Mama and I'm listening to Blue in Green by Miles Davis from Kind of Blue.

With miles behind me I hear faint cries,

Powerful and moving, yet it's empty.

Inside my emptiness I am full of thoughts.

An empty paper, a full pen, occasional sighs.

 

3:52 A.M.

 

 

With constant walking I go nowhere

yet it takes me away to places I've never gone.

I always start the same, but the same is never in the end.

It is always available for anyone, yet it is rare to find.

Not everyone gets it even though they have it.

 

4:07 A.M.

 

 

 

A great writer wrote that we always talk about the weather,

but we never seem to do anything about the weather.

In its own sense it is the harmony only that contradicts.

It is the pitter patter of the falling rain

soft and beautiful, bold and dissonant.

Can you hear it?

Can you feel it?

Close your eyes, now go for a ride on a night train.

Ah, the night train, now we are finally moving,

but we still haven't gone anywhere or done anything.

 

4:23 A.M

 

 

 

The passing lights from a speeding train

bright and clear only for a second, makes you wonder if it's real.

That is my Kind of Blue, a passing light during the night.

It's bright, beautiful, magnificent then gone as if it were never there.

Lost in a blue abyss, the same blue never the same hue, tint, or shade.

 

4:40 A.M.

 

 

 

One's life journey.  Their amazing find.  My Kind of Blue.