Skip to content

24 nov 2014

Monday, 24 Nov 2014, 21:48 UTC

24nov2014

Leaf Again

Saturday, 22 Nov 2014, 12:55 UTC

Oakleaf again

Because methinks one can never have too many leafez.

(Your mileage may vary.)

Rosy Glasses

Friday, 21 Nov 2014, 21:17 UTC

1.

Manny stopped by my desk on his way out of the building. It was Friday. Not many people were left.

“I remember the interview,” he said. Manny told me that he had wondered if the guy was for real. “Could anyone really be that chipper, that optimistic, energetic? He talked non-stop!”

I was tempted to confess being on the other end of the spectrum. But then, he surely knows that.

Eeyore comes to mind, perhaps? My mother called me loose lip. Let’s just say that I lost my rosy glasses.

2.

I’m sitting in the study on a dark and rainy night. The fair and industrious Trudy is far away. It’s very quiet here.

iTunes helps. Bob Schneider, The World Exploded into Love. Bryan Ferry, Love is the Drug. And now there’s another Bob Schneider song. And Mr. Guinness is staring around the corner, alternately sitting and standing wagging his tail. And Miss Izzy is curled up cozy in her bed.

I take out a pen and scribble a little something. Some green. Scribble. Some yellow. Scrabble. Some more green. A little orange. A crooked line around the periphery. Some initials. And… Send!

Within minutes an email hits my in box.

Like! says Trudy.

Wink! I reply.

And oh look, I think I have found those rosy glasses.

Leaf by Scribble

Friday, 21 Nov 2014, 20:17 UTC

Oakleaf

Le Guin

Friday, 21 Nov 2014, 19:12 UTC

Ursula Le Guin stands at the podium to accept her award

“We live in Capitalism,” she says.  

She looks out at the audience and raises her eyebrows and shrugs just a little.

“Its powers seem inescapable.”

Here she pauses a moment and looks up again folding her arms on the podium. She leans forward.

“So did the Divine Right of Kings.”

And here she stops for just a moment to let her words sink in.

Watch her.

Sit Down and Take a Stress Pill

Wednesday, 19 Nov 2014, 21:19 UTC

Stresspill

Seeing the Forest in the Trees

Monday, 17 Nov 2014, 20:05 UTC

Shroom IMG 0730

Look hard. Do you see it? Over there behind the fungus peeking up from the mould at the base of that tree. Do you see it? Look harder. Squint your eyes. Do you see it? There’s a forest in those trees.

photo: david hasan | central michigan | summer 2014

From Philae

Sunday, 16 Nov 2014, 11:48 UTC

Philae

Song of Coleridge’s Sailor (4 of 7)

Sunday, 16 Nov 2014, 09:55 UTC

4.

As the old man spoke of the dying of the crew, the young man’s face turned white.  He jumped up and tried to step away. But the old man stayed him with a hand on his shoulder. Bony and gnarled and cold it seemed, the hand of a ghost returned from the sea.

The young man shouted. Get away! Go back!

Relax, the old man said. I am just a sailor with a story to tell.

The young man sat down. And the old man continued…

Death left me alive with them. My dead crewmates and I floated in that forsaken sea. And as I looked at those dead men, the living things of the sea swirled and jumped in the waters around the ship.

I looked out on those living things and back at the dead around me. And I looked up to heaven and tried to pray, but the sky and the sea… 

Oh the sea and the sky and those poor dead men cursed me where I stood. And no prayer came to my lips while the eyes of the fallen stared up at me.

Up came the sun and down it went for seven days and seven nights. Yet there I was alone alive out in that forsaken place.

Up came the moon and down it went for seven nights and seven days. Out in the water the sea things swirled and jumped. They were blue and black and glossy green and they swam in circles of foaming white and silver-gold. And I watched them dancing on the waves.

Oh, happy living things. Oh, beautiful things. As I stood there marvelling, the world exploded in love all around me. And in that very moment heaven took pity on me, and the Albatross fell from my neck and sunk down into the sea.

Song of Coleridge’s Sailor (3 of 7)

Sunday, 16 Nov 2014, 01:26 UTC

3.

The old man spoke on.

It was a weary time when our throats were parched and we watched with glazed eyes at the silent sea about us. 

Then, in the west I saw a shape: a speck, a distant ship that tacked and veered. Standing there on the sun-baked deck, I watched. I stared. And at last cried, “A sail! A sail!”

My crewmates raised a cry of joy. But as we watched, the ship stopped tacking. And though no tide was turning, the distant ship kept approaching. How could this be so?

And now that ship stood between us and the setting sun. Silhouetted against the blazing light, it was a ghost of a ship: masts and mizzens, spars and booms, sails lying limp. And yet it drew closer.

Was that a woman on the deck? Or no, now were they two — a woman and an other? And now, they drew beside us.

There stood the woman, but what was that other? Oh, it was Death itself! It was Death that walked beside her.

The woman with bright red lips and lifeless skin cast dice on the deck of that ship and then stood. “I’ve won!” she cried. 

And in that instant, the sun was gone without so much as a fading of the day. In that instant, we were cast in the darkest night. And then, that ship was gone.

We sailed until the moon came up, under the stars on a silent sea.

And in the dim light, one by one I now watched my crewmates drop. One by one, with a thump they fell lifeless to the deck. And now with the Albatross hanging around my neck, I was the only one standing.