Aeolian Songs by Mario Ramirez

Little attention do I pay to the sky. Today however, I paused and thought to myself, why not? Could it be vaster than the sea when the clouds do not dot it -- a great expanse of blue with streaks of sunshine do well without blotting it? The hue and its tone remind me of the prettiest blue I have ever seen in my life, a hundred or so nights ago under a blanket of San Franciscan ambience and personalities. She brought something new to the table, and deep I fell into Her fable of enablement and unstable convictions of promise. The complexity and simplicity of it all- the contrasting blur of all these aspects... only made today a lot more beautiful when I realized what I have.

It is December 23rd if memory and iCal serve me well, and regardless of last nights turn of events and lack of sleep, this belated morning sounds clearer than Aeolian chimes and church bells; fresher than recently shipped merchandise to sell. And if I may be mistaken for a neurotic poet, or for a man of a lusting, dispensable obsession with attention -- grant me the excuse of an intangible reason. As if they were all intangible to begin with, the sky I can not touch nor can I feel, but in its farthest reaches today I dwell amidst a sensation of healing. It is good and right. It is good and right for me to say that the blue of it all, adjacent to the green of Washington High Schools freshman field, fit my window sill frame well. Laying behind the blinds and shutters, yet at the same time floating around in my very own office.

"Waking up in the morning I had to thank God, I don't why but today seems kind of odd. No barking from my dogs, and no smog, and momma cooked a breakfast with no hog."

Even with the blue, even with the green and the newfound glow of solar powered light against the darkness of the gym, the blandness of the fences and roads and houses, nothing stood out more than the low breeze of a cool, December day in the Bay Area. More common than the cold, the breeze floated through my basketball shorts and slippers with an ease unforeseen in all of my lives. I tasted a hint of salty sea-spray, a batch of newly hatched ducklings and this time they were all ugly. The wind rustled a-way through the unkemptness of my hair and it told me to write. And if I may be mistaken for a neurotic poet, it told me to love and worship it.

Look up into the air, I may not speak for you all, but I find the explosions in the sky suitable only when powered by the natural dyes and fabrics of life. This one is for the wind, this one is for the blue and the green and for the scent of pine brought by my impressive Christmas tree. I can't give you all presents for I am broke, but I hope today will shine for you as it did for me. It may never be as fluid or eloquent as I made it seem to be, but it will always be close to it on days like these. So I give you this as a present, a piece of myself and a piece of the world, for on this day all of us shall surely unfurl in the spirit of festivities. I only ask for you to step outside once today, and you'll know exactly what I am talking about. Happy holidays everyone.