Little Things

tanja-heffner-259382.jpg

On mornings like these

when trees sway

and give way

to chirping birds

as herds

of ants

scatter across grass

glimmering in

morning dew

I realize

that maybe

( just maybe )

these little things

are enough

That little

is only as little

as we allow it to be

And I’m learning to be okay with that

©  Hudson Biko

Photograph: Tanja Heffner

Hey there! Thank you for reading that. ūüėä I’m currently away for a little bit so I may not be able to respond to your comments or messages but I look forward to reading them when I get back!

‚̧ԳŹ

Biko

Advertisements

Blank

Greg Rakozy.jpg

On days like this

when I

want to

do

everything

but nothing

wants to happen

I realize that some days aren’t really meant for anything.

They’re just meant to be lived.

And sometimes,

That’s okay.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Greg Rakozy

 

Taxi Musing II

Peter Kasprzyk.jpg

On Friday afternoon, I took two taxi rides.

On my first, I was on my way somewhere. I didn’t know exactly where I was going. I didn’t know exactly how I would reach there. I really just hoped that the driver taking me would.

He didn’t.

But he did have an idea. An idea of where that place was. An idea of the roads that might lead there. An idea of the path to our destination.

 

On my second, I was on my way home. I knew exactly where I was going. I knew exactly how I would reach there. I really just hoped that the driver taking me would.

He did.

But amongst the congestion and confusion we call traffic on a Friday afternoon, we got stuck in the middle of each highway or pathway we eventually got on.

Both times, I eventually got to exactly where I wanted to go. Albeit from contrasting starting points.

On the first, we found our way based on an idea. Based on our perception of what the end would like.

On the second, we had to divert from pre-conceived notions. We had to find alternative pathways to reach where we wanted to go.

I think that sometimes that’s the oxymoron we find ourselves in-between.

In-between working towards something we don’t really visualize and finding alternative ways of achieving what we’ve already visualized, especially in the midst of unexpected constraints.

But I also think that those are the moments that define us. The moments where we have to  believe in our own beliefs. The moments where we have to overcome unprecedented barriers. The moments where the journey makes the destination truly worthwhile.

 

© Hudson Biko

Photograph: Peter Kasprzyk

 

 

Cobbler Musing

img_4123

I took a pair of shoes to the cobbler today. Only one was actually being fixed. The other was more or less a point of reference. A point of understanding how I wanted the tattered one to look.

Soon after the cobbler began fixing mine, a young boy came in with his own shoe. With exactly the same problem I had. At this¬†point I began looking around the cobbler’s stall, looking to find other similarities. And I soon realized that it was surrounded by a myriad of other shoes, each differing in their purpose and construction but most times only one of a pair.

Even though the pairs took the same path, one was often the one that was spoiled, deconstructed.

But in its own way, this represents our own path.

It represents how facets of our lives can be congruently held together whilst being torn apart.

It represents the parallelism of experiences across same paths.

It represents how irrespective of its construction, everything has a capacity to fall apart.

But it also represents the value of experience, the importance of taking the journey to begin with. Of walking all possible paths and taking everything that comes with it.

It also represents the capacity to construct from the deconstructed. To build from what has been torn apart. To stitch and sew experiences to create something whole.

Something that makes the path truly worthwhile.

© Hudson Biko

Egg

 

its shell was cracked

after it smacked

against the counter top.

 

its insides were still unbroken,

its yolk still golden.

 

But I was halfway to the bin.

 

prepared to discard

with little regard.

 

S t o p p i n g.

because I started

thinking about how

 

I was halfway to the bin,

 

with its insides still unbroken

and its yolk still golden,

 

because its shell was cracked.

 

© Hudson Biko