snapshots

Sometimes there are trigger points in life;  a piece of music, a photograph, even a voice or a picture where someone WASN'T;  and you suddenly come up against a memory.   Not necessarily what the trigger invoked, but the strongest version of it.    Once that happens, the cellar door flies open and all the other peripherals flood out,  chattering and leaving muddy footprints on the good carpet. .

Usually the only way through it is through it;.  face the ache in the gut,  the river of what if and if only that flows behind your eyes,  and let it go again.  On the plus side, if you look at this stuff from all angles often you gain a new understanding (being all that much older and stuffed full of wisdom) of what happened, and why,  and can convince yourself that it was all for the best.


Well, two out of three isnt bad.

Some Days It Feels Like Overload (6WS)

August

the sun lies long

on the tedded fields

ribbons of mowed hay 

waiting for the baler

the balerman comes 

with his fierce machine

a miracle of twine and gears

turning chaos into order

one bale at a time

Its That Time of The Year (6WS)

 First we grow stuff   (yes it really is six feet high and yes it really is a tomato plant)

 Then we mow stuff (his dad's old Allis Chalmers tractor)

Then we feast (and a good time was had by all)  

(and a special thank you to Cate for this exercise: if forces all of us, I think, to consider where we are, and why, and maybe even how we got there,  week by week.  Some weeks are harder than others, some just get pulled out of the clouds. Either way,  its cool. )

perfect, just perfect

Thinking Out Loud

6 pm, the shadows are clear across the lawn, the sun just skims the tops of the trees on the west side of the house.  Feels like fall. Dry,  hot, but with a chill after dark that says, 'where's my sweater gotten to?".   We sit on the porch and listen to cicadas and watch the dragonflies feasting on the insects Ive stirred up with mowing.

There's a feel of an early fall about.  Like chipmunks and squirrels, we begin to move a bit faster;  tasks we 've put off all summer now become urgent.  Get the wood in the shed, a voice mutters.  and don't forget the damn chimneys.  CLEAN em.   It's a laundry list of Things We Must Do, and in all of that,  I wonder quietly just how long I can do this.

I've been thinking seriously about  hiring professional chimney cleaners.  Not  yet, but soon.  Maybe next year.   Im always one project behind and one ahead, one way or the other.  I guess that's good, you never run out of things to do.

Or to think about.

Too Much Of A Good Thing (6WS)

its a pretty thing,  called a Beauty Bush.  This is a two year old picture--this year it totally blocked the front door and was just five feet short of the roof edge and something needed to be done.

                                                      So, we moved it.

One giant step at a time

you can see the outline of it on the house

and the space it left  

a short trip across the lawn 

and its new home  

ChiaPet field version

waning crescent 2.3% light

Morning moon,  morning star

the thinnest of edges 

as night lights go

you'd lose your way for sure

sometimes a little light

is worse than no light at all

it can blind you to the possibilities

all around you

Trying to Make It Out Alive (6WS)

now and then around sunset

he takes his favorite flute--

the one that could summon  whales

if there were any to call--

and heads out to his favorite

flute playing chair on the porch

sometimes he calls the whales
tries not to think about what would happen
if one showed up after all

or just plays that one low note

that gets all the dogs barking

across the valley below

and sometimes he just studies the flute

thinks about the music it makes

and the magic it makes inside him
trying not to look up

when a plane drones by

far overhead;

trying to make it out alive

for one more day

he plays the sun down

and if he's timed it right

the moon rises right on cue

and when the stars come out

he knows he's made it

and maybe she'll be home

tomorrow

waning crescent 2

watch the sweep
of wind across the fields
hurrying August
ahead of it
and  clouds
that turn  the crescent moon
to smoke

queen anne's lace

We  mow around this on the side lawn,  and it's turning into it's own little field;  I  noticed this week that other people do the same thing, now.  I like seeing that.