I am what I am

It's easy to mock the hippies, with their special names and their stone pendants and their far-out ideas, but I gotta hand it to this guy--he always has some illumination to offer...

'Tis the season for change, and it's not just another Fall this time around.  It's time to get on it!  Or around it, or under it, or into it, whatever you gotta do--it needs done.  

on this harvest moon

here, now, i wish to share with you some of the magnificent images i have captured in recent months, weeks, days...but alas, i find they exist only in my mind's eye, and to put into words that which can only be truly known by our perhaps most beautiful and mesmerizing of muscles, is not a task to which i might rise, tonight

as the full, harvest moon, rose in a pink haze over the light chop of the waves of lake harriet, i was there biding time on the other side of town, among the crowd, walking in anonymity with all the rest, as inconsequential and unnoticed as any one of the boats moored there in the shallows, gazing further toward sails full of wind

while tonight speaks of bright moonlight on salmon-pink gypsum, of peaches in sweet syrup, of the possibility of south america, and i remember that it sometimes takes a great deal longer than you imagine it ever could, to reap what has been sown, and bring the new seed in

There's no good reason for this

I lied.  About writing tomorrow, and about writing yesterday.  So here's the best I can do, writing today.

Today was a dogshit day.  

Dogshit, like the pile you stepped in when you hopped off the bus at the end of the line after you missed your stop on the way to a wrong address that you wrote down backwards because the person who gave you those directions was yelling into the wind as they went speeding away in an old pickup truck with a busted muffler after dropping you off on the side of a dark road with zero traffic miles from nowhere leaving you to wonder how far it might be to the next sandwich, much less to your actual destination.

F-ing lost.  Lost, and standing in a pile of--yes, just one word--dogshit.

But, as they like to say, things could be worse.  You could be standing in a pile of dogshit after getting punched in the face by your best friend, while watching your home, and every last thing you've worked your entire life for, be swept away by torrential flooding.  So muster a little gratitude, especially for the recent rain we've had here, as little as it has been.

***

Post Script. The radiohead today tuned in this morning with "it's a hard rain" and tuned out earlier this evening with "carry each other"...not what I might have thought to choose, but who's to argue with the airwaves?  Not one such as I, I'm sure.

Post Post Script. Now that I think of it, being dropped off on the side of an unlit road with no traffic miles from nowhere left to ponder how far to the next meal and the destination beyond actually sounds like it could be the start of a pretty great vacation.

Just Peachy

Peaches.

More peaches...

And peach wine, plus some plums and beer.

After the rain

I'm listening to the crickets, wondering where to begin.

I got caught in the rain today, after taking a ride to a shop that had just closed, pushing pedals against time and tailwinds, there and back... It was an ideal rain to bike home in, with the heat of the pavement rising up below me and the warm rain kissing my shoulders from above, while gentle thunder rumbled through the wind in my ears, a flash of lightning here, a crossing there, a stranger's greeting, a passing thought... a perfect summer evening, in my book.

I made it home just as the rain began to really come down.  It soaked my hair and ran down my neck, as I paused under the shallow eaves of the garage, to open the fence and unlock the garage door.  Such a sweet sensation, warm rain on a warm day.  The gardens have been needing it, too.

All the windows are still open; it seems I should secure them and go rest in my bed.  I'd intended more tonight, but there's a train rolling by and the crickets are calling me to sleep.  More tomorrow.

love at first bite.

velvet plump apricots, halved

face down in 

maple syrup and a splash of that ol' Tennessee whiskey

laid upon 

a hot grill over glowing coals to be

charred a little

and then set back into the sugar before being

spooned onto

a luscious mound of vanilla

so utterly

mmm!

I forgot all about

tiny ribbons of ginger mint though it was no less

absolutely perfect

and easily

one of my most

delicious,

ever.

there's something

there's something about sitting out on the front stoop and watching earthworms stretch all the way from the edge of the rain-soaked walk to eat fallen apple blossoms in the middle of the night
that makes it hard not to be in love with every moment