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CECI N’EST PAS UN PARC
This morning over the Park a Magritte sky is hung. Several birds gather in an old oak to discuss this, twittering thoughts in surprise. Their conclusions fly off at the approach of a black lab joyously frolicking in imagined freedom.
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4/4 TIME
Musicians have a clock that runs on its own time and all that is constant is the beat, in four second increments. They start, they say, when the music is ready, never before and music is fickle: tonight it wanted to sit off stage and rest an hour, another night it begins precisely as advertised…
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DIRECT ROUTE
He would rather be from somewhere. Where he is or is not going matters very little to him now, he will be where he will be, will go where he needs or wants to go or is taken, and when there, that is where he should be, so being there is no problem. But until…
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OF BEAUTY
We love the flower, more so if it adopts the brighter shades of nature’s palette, and even tolerate the fern, but only if it truly honors the greens it is supposed to bear and unfurl. We save our spite for the fungus which reaches up to us with surprising haste, nothing this day, fully formed…
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THIN EDGE
He is certain he has the answer and is imply waiting for someone to ask the correct question. He knows he cannot be wrong For if the answer seems so it is only because the wrong question was asked, and that would hardly be his fault. He tells people this, asking that they carefully consider…
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TEMPUS IN A TEAPOT
If you’ve been paying attention, you already know that I have always hated Latin, and not merely because I never took it, but because I grew tired of being told to seize the day. It wasn’t like I could put a leash on it – time tends not to remain static, and since it has…
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HAWKING AUTUMN
The hawks have been circling more frequently of late, but in the early autumn laziness of merely riding the breezes that seem to pick up in the mornings, before the midday sun bids them be calm so it can make its transit. By afternoon, they tend to roost high up in the giant pines,…
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FLYING TIME
She said, “the saddest thing of all is time. We spend so much of it trying to insure we know exactly what time it is, that it gets away from us and is gone long before we get around to using it.” He said, “but it’s important to know what time it is, in case…
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DROPPING
As night settles in the clouds grow uncertain of their intentions. It is hard to realize that a boundary is silently crossed and summer has retreated into the past, leaving a new season in its wake, harder to know that tomorrow we will awaken into an autumn that at first seems no different then her…
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HAWKING SANITY
I am not the least bit certain why the red-tailed hawk chose that lamppost that day and peered down over the Expressway. Nature has her own logic and we question it at our own risk. Staring into his flaming eyes, for one small moment we both saw the foolishness rolling by below and alongside us.
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an old writer and his words 