STILL LOOKING FOR FOLIAGE?

No, we can’t ignore our glorious fall foliage.

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:

And then, ponder the influence all this has on our emotions and thinking:

~*~

Click away as you will.

Just another mill town, right?
Just another mill town, right?
Advertisements

JUST OFF THE PATHWAY

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.”

I thought we could go panning for gold.

For more of the story, click here.

FIELD GUIDE

When you walk into the expanse, keep going. Maybe you’ll meet a dwarf at creekside. Maybe a bear. If you do, you must speak respectfully and listen closely to the reply. Even if they call you a yokel, as Kokopelli did.

~*~

A dust storm — sandstorm — and they close the highway.

You must wait. Cover your mouth and eyes.

~*~

On high ridges, bachelor Basque shepherds follow their flocks all summer. Each one and his dogs rarely encounter anyone who speaks Human.

~*~

Wilderness is about clouds, too.

Now what were you dreaming?

~*~

Guides do appear. Sometimes among fellow practitioners. Maybe even your landlord. Or Kokopelli.

~*~

“Who’s standing on my head?” a totem pole figure wonders.

Just like a typical office.

~*~

Blinking in my field of karma, the reminder:

PENDULUM
swinging
back
winter
NIGHTFALL

It’s not the first time.

Be faithful and wait.

~*~

Sometimes a lover becomes a place you want to enter.

Sometimes one’s the space the other envelops.

~*~

Where would I have been without her in that desolate expanse?

~*~

For more insights from the American Far West and Kokopelli, click here.

DIMENSIONS OF ARTISTRY

The space of art also works in other dimensions. The artists themselves are rarely of the same social class as their benefactors or audience. We repeat the cliché of starving artist, even when some become comfortably wealthy and dwell in chic locales. Still, they’re employed in ethereal fields — actors, musicians, painters, the stagehands and gallery owners, box office managers, and a host of others. They work different schedules from the general populace. Many sleep late or stay up through the night.

There are even the spaces as a work moves away from its creator into other locations. A painting, for example, appears one way in the studio, another way on one’s walls, and still another way in a gallery — none of them resembling what happens when the same piece is hung in a major museum. Musicians and actors know the difference between the intensity and argument of rehearsal and the propriety of performance itself. An author can observe how different a piece appears in manuscript, in galley-proof, in a magazine or literary review, or in a bound book. A poet or a poetry supporter becomes aware of the differences between viewing a piece on the page, voicing it on the lips (either in a public occasion or for one’s own private pleasure), or performing it in a formal reading.

We can move outward, of course. Into ballparks or arenas. The loud crowds. But those are other spaces, in some ways overlapping fine arts and religion.

We might consider as well the ways the fine arts have been acceptable as civic religion. An Oscar or a Grammy is more valued than a Crucifix in our society. A comedian is a better master of ceremonies than a preacher or priest. We’re nervous about civic events held in houses of worship. A wedding or funeral, perhaps, though it carries a sense of crossing into something private.

On the other hand, as religion has retreated largely from public awareness, or perhaps simply to the suburbs and better parking, it has abandoned earlier houses of worship, especially those downtown or in the inner city. Some have been converted to arts spaces — galleries, concert halls, night clubs, theaters, restaurants. I regard these as being somehow different from structures designed and built for arts uses. It’s more than recycling, I’d say.

For more insights from the American Far West and Kokopelli, click here.

YES, ‘TIS DEEPLY INGRAINED IN THE NEW ENGLAND SPIRIT

Autumn truly is New England’s premier season, and I’ve spent much time pondering its influence. Here are some of my reasons:

~*~

~*~

Click away as you will.

The color suits our settlements.
The color suits our settlements.