cruelty that arises from bitterness spanning a rocky streambed * * * the Japanese bow to India with its dry ferns and maple with its fronds becoming a cob of ribbon in the dry fronds of Japanese ferns and half-devoured cobs the Indian maples bow and dry cobs of corn and fronds in Japan the […]
My slide shows and Yankee autumn essays archived in the New England spirit category, August-November 2013, of my Chicken Farmer I Still Love You blog are well worth revisiting. Our regional character comes forth in the intense, all-too-brief flurry from summer into long winter.
Take the tour, if you haven’t already. No wonder we treasure the color! And feel free to react with your comments.
First, the slide shows, beginning with a hike before the color shifts and a taste of the apple harvest. And then the sequence of full autumn foliage:
The poems of Night Owls & Early Birds float through glimpses of people caught in public late at night or early in the morning, along with snatches of their conversation – the quiet and often lonely hours of the darkest shadows.
Next morning, alone in mountains, he ventured off trail to view a two-hundred-foot waterfall. The roar asked why he’d come and answered the question with another mountain. Todd traveled in ways that left no evidence of his presence. Footsteps in snow will melt. Even his walking was quiet. Here, even as an alien, he could fit.
In the morning, I read aloud: “Tomorrow, favorable, new moon coming up.”
even when I preside this matter of conducting business troubles words and more words plus reflection in place of action called to be a community exemplifying unity in love (Mark 9:50 and Ephesians 4:3-4) yet how scattered we are yet how often grieved another report to minute for the archives * * * asked by […]
Why wait for the dust to settle? Here are 10 bullets from my end.
Am imagining evenings for violin and piano. How long since I’ve even picked up rosin and bow!
A drive through a stretch I call the Black Forest can be quite amazing now. So luminescent, a golden-yellow tunnel of light.
Indian Summer officially comes after the first killing frost. It’s almost scary.
How much I feel myself a dilettante. A little of this, a little of that.
The Big Question? (Questions! Yes, it’s questions!)
It’s important to have a place to wind down, to fester, to percolate. To look at the messy side of your existence. (Nothing of that in a Frank Lloyd Wright home.)
Reza Baraheni is the Iranian poet I heard read after his release from prison and torture. He warned that the alternative to the Shah would be even worse.
My Mediterraneo poetry project had me reconsidering Greek and Roman mythology and then seeing that in contrast to theology. What strikes me is how convoluted it is, more than even Hindu cosmologies, and how anthropromorphic, down to the birthing or immortals slaying other immortals while frozen in time. How intricately it’s bound to a specific locale and its people. In contrast to the One Truth implicit in monotheism, i.e., science, the mythologies give us a cosmos that’s chaotic, ruled by caprice, fear, vengeance, conflicting deities as the source of human suffering. How do you find direction in such confusion?
A neighbor’s 2 1/2-foot iguana is on the loose, according to the poster on the telephone pole. There’s a $100 reward.
You don’t shoot your own troops. Not if you want to win. Otherwise, there’s every reason to mutiny.
one daughter’s been sitting a California king snake (fellow dad Eric’s quite impressed) a friend’s rabbit, quite a thumper “We thought books were falling from the shelves” when the daughter babysat, and so the kids slept in the big bed and I snoozed off in the loft Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson For more, […]