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LILAC FESTIVAL
It is nota signof the apocalypseor shouldn’t be. The parkis redolentwith the scentof lilacs in blossom. You can smell itblocks away,and they flockunder the watchfuleye of the crowsto the carny trailers for kettle corn,roasted coated nuts,cotton candyand the beer tent waitingfor the musicas the lilacs sitforlornly wonderingwhen theyceased to matter. First Published in Flora Fiction,…
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AUTHORSHIP
If birds could write, which birdwould write like which author.The Osprey would clearly be Hemingwayknowing the sea, but with no need for an old man.The common Gallinule might becomeBilly Collins, an easy laugh and always entertaining.The crows could be so many writersattending workshops, all still lookingfor a voice to express themselves withoutcausing their audience to…
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NESSLESS
There are no monstersin this lake I tellmy granddaughter, answeringher unasked question.There are bears in the woodsaround here and thereused to be an owl which madean afternoon visit.There are deer, certainlyand there could be a coyoteor two. If you don’tbelieve me, ask the crows,everyone knows that theycan never keep a secret. First published in From…
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DISCONCERT
The crows are disconcerted this morning. It could be that the sun startled them or that they were simply present to protest the cold for clearly they despise it as much as we do.
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IN ABSENCE
The dawn failed to appear this morning. There was a slight lightening of the sky, more a change of grayscale shade that a shift in time-honored by the sun. The crows seemed to notice, why else would they stay silent, so unlike most days when the first rays of sun were the call to take…
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HIBERNAL DREAMS
Outside, even the crows are quiet this morning, seeking a warmth that eludes us all. We all know winter has finally arrived as we shiver and try so very hard to remember the warmth of summer, the bloom of the lilacs and the magnolia petals falling gently to mark our path.
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A MURDEROUS CACOPHONY
The crows were at it in the park today, unable, it seemed, to agree on anything and unwilling to let any other have the last word. I asked them to stop, and that bought all of fifteen seconds of peace before one decided the debate needed to go on. It was a cacophony hard on…
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NIGHT ARRIVES
As night advances, the clouds march in slow retreat to the horizon under the tattoo of the crows cadenced cawing. Once gone from sight, under the always watchful moon, they shall regroup and prepare to reemerge in the first shadow of the sun of morning.
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THROUGH GAIJIN EYES
1. From the window of the hotel bus the small, squared fields are a green that only painters achieve, deep, intense, unreal. As the bus inches forward along the Narita–Tokyo expressway the green forms neat rows set off by a shimmer of the gray sky mirror that bathes the young plants. 2. Tokyo is a…
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DAWN
Early morning Tokyo awakens, gray, moist. In the small park the crows listen for the Temple bell then bowing to the Buddha, call out their morning chants.
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an old writer and his words 