Friday, November 20, 2015

The Trash Man

                       The Trash Man

I’d hoped it was the machine that would suck up the leaves
that I’d raked toward the curb all morning.

It was the garbage truck.

As I filled the bird feeder
I glanced at the heavy black trash bags
I’d dragged to the curb in the brisk November dark.

Sometimes I make a HEAVY sign and attach it with frog tape -
afraid a worker might get a bulging disc handling them.
I couldn’t handle that.

A motor roars, and brakes squeal.
I hurry toward the three monoliths.

“Careful!“ I wave as a young man jumps from the cab of the truck.
“They’re heavy!” I shout.
He gingerly lifts and tosses the first into the bin.

As he feathers the others up and in, like the leaves I’d been moving,
he flashes a beautiful smile into the crisp sunlight.
“These are nothing!
But thanks for the warning!
Have a great weekend!” 
And he roars into the day to keep our suburban lives – predictably tidy.

Lately, I don’t listen to TV and the radio.
After Paris, I want only to address my immediate life and surroundings.
Somehow, though, this exchange with the trash man,
was blessedly reassuring.

Above the din of daily life, above the clamor of world events,
I know I am not alone.
I hear America working.


Sunday, November 15, 2015

An Old Fossil and her Young Friend Look for Real Fossils

My Mini-and young friend - Lori ;)

Some younger stone masons . . . having about as much luck as we.

They wouldn't let us at THIS  wall.   Bet we'd a done better.

Look Mom!  Some dirt!!

On our way out - in the stones lining the entrance drive:   Wow!! A teensy tiny . . fossil (?)

OOOOHHHH . ..  But look!!  Could it be!!!????   A Trilobite !!!

Yeah.  The one I "found" in a Colorado Springs jewelry shop - yeeeeaars ago.
A true fossil.   

Thursday, October 22, 2015

Autumn - Ohio

Just outside of Loudonville, Ohio

 Mount Jeez overlooking Malabar Farm.    Jonna captures the scene.

A couple pumpkins whom their aunt loves like crazy :)


Saturday, September 26, 2015

Why are we here? Why we ARE here. All saints day in the park.

What do you call mentally disabled children now? She was frightened and visibly distressed by the noise of the distant tractor. I watched from my car as the kind, patient, unruffled assistants tried to coax her to join the others who’d found their way to the picnic area. Look at her hand as she tries to reenter the bus. So tentative about the life she inhabits. Someone started to blow bubbles to distract her – to little effect. Finally they coaxed her with the promise of pizza. They took her hand and drifted past my windshield. One of the bubbles persisted for a few moments against a bright blue sky. It finally drifted downward and gave up its form above the freshly mown grass. I tried not to weep.

Friday, July 03, 2015

Here Chick-a-dee-dee-dee !

Precious nieces on Cape Cod .  . .  Making friends with the locals.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Nuff Of That Previous Post With the Dead Fish

Gotta change the wallpaper.  Birds and friends in AZ.

Camelback Mountain.
Black-tailed Gnatcatcher.
Big cactus with Keith and Jonna.

Sunday, February 01, 2015

A Fish Story. Heron versus Osprey. Heron Wins In First Round.

That's the tip of the Great Blue Heron's wing jutting into the left side of the picture.  He wanted that fish.
This is one of those pixes you always regret not capturing.
The heron is hot pursuit of the osprey.  That's the osprey's wing in the upper right.
     The osprey lands to eat his fish.  The heron approaches.
   The heron gives him "The Look" and the osprey flees.
                                             THE LOOK



Amazingly,  he could still fly with that lump in his throat.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

Falling Away

Falling Away

It's mid January.

Some things don't change.

The sunlight has found a path
through winter clouds.
The patterns it throws across the walls,
as it falls through bare branches,
are familiar.

It's the sun pushing back the covers,
and stretching its broad back,
to start the year, again.

In this house, for decades,
I've watched the seasons melt,
one into another.

Buckling soil, greening shoots,
rhapsodic bloom, endless lawns, 
ripening seeds;

Mid January.

I sit watching timeless patterns.

The years have left their marks.

Only I, and the family pictures,
on the sun-drenched sill,
mark time . . .

falling away.