Figure 1 - Journal page (Gonzalez-Bea, 2018)

I

If I could write Poetry, I would write about the wonderful things inside my mundane routine, when I go out and about on my daily walks.

II

The peacefulness in the horizon, before the rain strikes again … (los matices de los coloresen el cielomentras las nubes se preparan para desprender agua)

III

The sense of warmth and security I get when I greet the same old lady, whose name I don’t know, but I see her on these mundane daily walks.

IV

She doesn’t know of course, but I admire her striking red lipstick and the stinky aroma of her flowery perfume.

She doesn’t know of course, but she reminds me of the cemetery, and of all the people that I have loved and have now passed away.

She doesn’t know of course, but she reminds me of how much I have been loved …

She reminds me to live in the now and to wear that red lipstick ... because one day,

I too will smell like flowers.

V

I would write about the endless amount of rubbish that I collect @ the beach as I swear at those that have littered it … but rubbish that makes me feel useful and gives me purpose for that mundane moment.

VI

If I could write poetry, I would tell you about the type of people I see walking along the beach, often looking miserable and nostalgic as they stare deep into the horizon.

A misery and a nostalgia, so familiar to me, that draws imaginary lines of connection in the sand between us all ...

They don’t know of course.

VI

I could tell you about the lonesome guy that feeds the pigeons and seagulls everyday, and anxiously awaits for the next passer to quickly gift them with a fast paced “good morning”.

VII

I could tell you how lonesome he seems, but how content he looks as the birds anxiously wait for him to gift him with their presence and with a “good morning sound”.

For in their eyes and mine, he is the caring man that feeds them, when no one else does.

He cares enough to greet strangers and gift us with his lonesome presence ...

He doesn’t know of course.

VIII

I could also tell you about the strange creepy bearded man that chooses to sit next to my bench as I sit here to do these journal entries.

IX

A man that looks creepy only because that’s what society taught me about strangers that sit next to your bench.

X

But a creepiness that I secretely like, as I imagine him feeling safe, warm, connected and reminded to live today and to continue to find his purpose, when he finds me – this strange woman doing artwork at the beach sitting in the same bench, as he goes on about his daily mundane walks.

XI

They don’t know this of course, perhaps one day I will tell them ...in the meantime I’ll tell you about it, my loyal and always available creative journal friend.