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Sunday, November 25, 2007
Mighty Ben
More about cats: Ben is our very large Maine Coon Cat. He enjoys basking in the sun, especially out on the deck, in this cool
weather. Our dainty little cats, Max and Cuddles, who even combined don’t equal his weight, hiss and howl at him, chase, and
swipe him. He hasn’t yet realized his own subtle powers. Sometimes size doesn’t matter. It’s the attitude.
11:22 am est
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Fireside Chat
It’s cold outside, warm by the fire. Even warmer on the kitchen table where Larry has passed out, and barely notices this
camera in his face, taking pictures. Larry is nearly seventeen years old. He doesn’t drive, but he doesn’t mind going for
rides, as long as he has his comfort carrier to sleep in. You may notice a little tear in his ear. In his youth, Larry was
a fierce warrior, defending his territory with a swipe and a snap. Now he howls all night, trumpeting to some mysterious urge,
startling the sleep out of us all.
4:02 pm est
Friday, November 23, 2007
CDC ALERT
The fever is high
to buy buy buy—
the Consumeritis Pandemic is spreading.
Save yourself now.
Do what you can.
Take every available precaution.
With no reliable vaccine,
stay out of the stores,
the virus sickens rapidly there;
keep your hands off your wallet,
don’t touch any money—
the plastic’s especially infectious;
and when you’re at home,
prone to exposure,
you must protect yourself please!
unplug the TV,
recycle the paper,
and walk out for plenty of air.
The morbidity and mortality linked
with this illness is
unprecedented and high.
If you find yourself weakening,
the fever climbing,
get a hold,
get a grip,
and buy a chicken or goat
for a distant family in despair.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Turkey Talk
It’s getting a little close to Thanksgiving for these ladies to be meandering in our yard, scratching the dirt for food, considering
our annual Turkey lust. I didn’t see any wild cranberries out there today, or potatoes either. I suppose that means I’ll still
have to go to the grocery store. Darn it all.
12:30 pm est
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Mystery
Is it that Buck, who stands at the edge of the road every night, ready to go, who left this behind? Or a turkey, coyote, or
quail, who thirsty, finds the streams running low and has turned to the drink. What about this tree, maybe he likes to booze
it up on a windy night, with the moon over his shoulders, like a nosy barkeep.
2:21 pm est
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Slow Down!
Hello drivers, from a meek pedestrian who shares the road with you on fine sunny days, and not so fine. Wonder what I was
doing with that camera hanging in my hand, like a spy? Ah, taking pictures from the perspective of a startled ambulator when
your car whizzed by.
11:18 am est
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
MISSILES
Remember “sticks and stones,” when insults and taunts would fly? As though this phrase could cure the sting of those poisoned
darts. Here we have big stones and little sticks, not likely to be thrown anywhere. A chipmunk left some old acorn shells
in the mix, perhaps for the garbage collector, or the recycle truck.
12:54 pm est
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Puddles
Rain, a leaf, a swing. Wandering through dampness and mud puddles in the park. Children all in school, scribbling notes, teachers
hatching the blackboards with chalk. Still, the heel furrows plowed under the swing, drowned in water now, remember days
of freedom, defying gravity.
2:32 pm est
Monday, November 5, 2007
Time and Dark
Big Time
In another place today: Norwood, a town with a big clock and bright lights. When darkness barges in for the night, welcome
the flicker of these fluorescent and incandescent bulbs, otherwise the shoulder of the stranger, a ghost passing too near,
may rub you with something like fear.
6:37 pm est
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Staying Alive
A few panes of glass survive after years of assault from missiles and time in this old mill, falling into itself, largely
ignored, forgotten. What beauty here, despair. Weeds and fence hide much of the view, restraining the disease. Off limits,
no trespassing. Police patrol. Keep a watchful eye. Still, the rocks fly.
10:20 am est
Friday, November 2, 2007
Embers
Late afternoon here in town, wandering around with my son’s camera. Thinking more about the splendor of Hopkin’s poetry. Lines
from The Windhover, near the end,
...blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.
People are rarely seen here loose on the streets with cameras. Most are busy with errands to the post office, pharmacy, or
Cumby’s market, dashing in and out of parking spaces in zippy cars, cursing at the so-and-so’s who cut them off. Walking with a lens,
the embers of reality come into focus.
The old Falk’s Market. Once a thriving store with freshly butchered meats, penny candy, sawdust on the floor, and good conversation. Now tumbling
into pigeon crap. It’s for sale. It will need more than paint.
1:07 pm est
Thursday, November 1, 2007
The Weeds Have Died
Early yet today. Spent more time with Gerard Manley Hopkins, and his poem “Inversnaid,” last night. Reading Hopkins is to feel the universe and nature come alive. The brook, waterfall,
the lake, everything he sees has a pulse, a heartbeat. And on my walk this morning, I pass the golf course. The land there used to be wet and wild, but now it’s dry and tame. Grass clipped to height. No weeds. Flags and greens.
Men in proper clothes. Electric golf carts, no walking. What would Hopkins say? Here the last stanza from his poem:
What would the world be, once bereft
Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left,
O let them be left, wildness and wet;
Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet.
8:15 am est
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