Wednesday morning, early and the sun has yet to rise. It’s winter after all. Doubting that sleep would return at 5AM, after dressing and the routine bowl of cheerios, here I am at Starbucks. This morning I anticipate traveling for a last time to my friend Al Lykin’s home. Al died subsequent to a…
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. –excerpt Do…
LITTLE GIDDING by T. S. Eliot (No. 4 of ‘Four Quartets’) I Midwinter spring is its own season Sempiternal though sodden towards sundown, Suspended in time, between pole and tropic. When the short day is brightest, with frost and fire, The brief sun flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that…
What is there to say? Sleeping till late this morning (9AM) I hope for recovery from Covid. Some congestion lingers. Does one know if congestion in the throat is advancing or receding? There’s only trust in nature, and no knowing. A return to the Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot is gratifying. I am…
Deathscape Lullaby Cynthia Cruz Broken crimson Mercedes sedan. Cotton-wood, milk-weed. The taste of cold metal and the repetition of three AM sirening ambulance rides. Yellow cream, three-tiered birthday cake. Cherry lip balm. Pale blue satin shorts and matching jacket with my name embroidered in hot pink, Cindy. Poochie, my childhood beagle, whimpering inside the…
Keeping Time by Mike Orlock I’ve lost time. Lost track of where I left it, (on a table at home, in a desk at work): I placed it somewhere for safekeeping, thinking, That five minutes will come in handy later today or early tomorrow— Just give me a minute, maybe two, I’ll get back…
Tomorrow! The eve of merriment approaches! There have been various “dress rehearsals,” opportunities to don costumes, usually with friends for parties. Here are several images which I captured of my grand daughter and her classmates, enjoying a out-of-doors parade of costumes, accompanied by parents and grand parents. Additionally here is a delightful poem, a…
Thoreau’s Pumpkins by Ginny Lowe Connors It is thought that Henry David Thoreau was the first American to plant Potiron Jaune Grosse, a variety of large yellow pumpkin. Six seeds from France began it all. No abracadabra required, no alacazam— just a bit of manure, some hoeing, a little rain, and…
I Am Waiting By Lawrence Ferlinghetti I am waiting for my case to come up and I am waiting for a rebirth of wonder and I am waiting for someone to really discover America and wail and I am waiting for the discovery of a new symbolic western frontier and I am waiting for…
Fracture Ellen Bass When the grizzly cubs were caught, collared, and taken away— relocated they call it— their mother ran back and forth on the road screaming. Brutal sound. Torn from her lungs. Her heart, twisted knot, hot blood rivering to the twenty-six pounding bones of her feet. Just weeks before I watched a…
