Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Monday, February 27, 2006
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Sleight of...
Open-handed
My empty hands aren’t: fresh scars
and faint, memories of friends’ hands
clasping mine, tugging me over a fence,
pulling me up from a fall. I see my palms
scribbled with fortunes and laugh —
the calloused, finite surface so small
but it’s here creation takes itself
in hand, makes things new.
My empty hands aren’t: fresh scars
and faint, memories of friends’ hands
clasping mine, tugging me over a fence,
pulling me up from a fall. I see my palms
scribbled with fortunes and laugh —
the calloused, finite surface so small
but it’s here creation takes itself
in hand, makes things new.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Friday, February 24, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Samadhi in the winter garden
Thinking about that little blog-thread on duality, and remembered
Wei Wu Wei. Nicely written, witty bits that delineate nondual thinking.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Two'fer Tuesday
Did you find the little flower in the gutter yet?
(Seen in Austin.)
Why ghosts? And why two?
(Seen in Boston.)
Monday, February 20, 2006
Surprise!
Walked around a corner and saw the Big Purple Bird.
Betcha weren't expecting that -- I know I wasn't.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
I left, wondering what was behind it...
...and much later decided to Google the number.
I learned that 259 is the only non-prime number which yields itself when you add the letters of its English name "two hundred and fifty nine," setting the values a=1, b=2, ... z=26.
(Want more obscure number trivia? Go here.)
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Friday, February 17, 2006
Stranded in Atlanta, thinking about Austin
Worn beauty
Lost as I was watching rusted tin reworked
glowing into velvet bronze and copper, a voice
pulled me back: a dirty gnarled small man.
He asked what I was doing, I told him looking at the
beautiful light. His grin (split leathered broken-toothed)
widening, he shared what he saw early that morning:
one sunrise sunbeam arrowing down a doorway while
the full moon sat like a fat pearl in remnants of night.
“You should have seen it. That’s what makes life worth living,”
he smiled, running hard fingers through matted hair, tugging
his greasy cap down low.
We said our good-byes. Saying more not needed,
no excess in that moment of worn beauty.
Lost as I was watching rusted tin reworked
glowing into velvet bronze and copper, a voice
pulled me back: a dirty gnarled small man.
He asked what I was doing, I told him looking at the
beautiful light. His grin (split leathered broken-toothed)
widening, he shared what he saw early that morning:
one sunrise sunbeam arrowing down a doorway while
the full moon sat like a fat pearl in remnants of night.
“You should have seen it. That’s what makes life worth living,”
he smiled, running hard fingers through matted hair, tugging
his greasy cap down low.
We said our good-byes. Saying more not needed,
no excess in that moment of worn beauty.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
"...the silent rose of the sun..."
"Compare the silent rose of the sun
And rain, the blood-rose living in its smell,
With this paper, this dust.
That states the point."
~ Wallace Stevens
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Angels to the rescue
With boots on.
I am blessed to have friends who help me wrangle my digital tools.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Something about an old t-shirt
Just right
Cotton worn thin as silk from too many late nights – t-shirt
bedclothes carrying loose woven memories as threadbare,
softly frayed as the neckline I cut low with dull scissors.
I remember when I bought it the witty little devil and angel dogs and
cats sketched on the front were okay by me (another way of saying
nothing but saying it well) and first impressions were past enough
that it passed muster. I didn’t know at the time – no way to – that 10
years later it would be the last fabric of that weekend when your girls
stayed over and we laughed about nothing and it all felt just right.
Cotton worn thin as silk from too many late nights – t-shirt
bedclothes carrying loose woven memories as threadbare,
softly frayed as the neckline I cut low with dull scissors.
I remember when I bought it the witty little devil and angel dogs and
cats sketched on the front were okay by me (another way of saying
nothing but saying it well) and first impressions were past enough
that it passed muster. I didn’t know at the time – no way to – that 10
years later it would be the last fabric of that weekend when your girls
stayed over and we laughed about nothing and it all felt just right.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Thursday, February 02, 2006
I can't think of a good title...
...so I invite your thoughts.
I named the file StrawberryEncroachment.
I'm sure you can do better than that.
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
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