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AND THE RAINS CAME
It may sound odd, but what I miss mostis the spring rain, so short lived, alongthe roads in Highland Park in Rochester.You may say “but you live in Floridawhere the seasons are measured bywet and dry” and we do get rain, sometimesseemingly in Biblical proportions.and the Blue-winged Teals have returnedto our wetland now almost half…
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SPRING RAIN
The last flowers rain downfrom the cherry trees, a pervasivesadness announcing summer’s approach.We would welcome it, but wefear its possible wrath for allseasons show their anger to us.as if to cast blame on us for ignoringtheir beauty, their bounty, assumingtheir offerings will recur despiteour misbegotten changes to whatthey have always relied on, our arroganceand greed…
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TODAI-JI
On the steps of the Templethe unexpected morning snowwhich cast a threadbare blanketover the gates and lanternsrecedes slowly like a supplicantwhose prayers have been offered.The candle flames shiverin the strong February windwhile the Buddha sits, implacable.In the park below a dragon kitetakes the wind and swoops and dartshigher and higher, staring downat the Temple and…
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RISING TIME
Night rises slowlyfrom tangled rootsdragging ocher and rustfrom reluctant trees,promising only winter.We cannot see this,we sense only time eroding,slipping off untilthe trees are naked.They want onlyto hide themselvesin a shimmering gownof snow, recallingtheir verdancy, imagininganother season, a seasonof hope, a seasonof consecration, of light,of resurrection.We stand emotionallystripped on the banksof the stream into whichwe cannot…
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JEALOUSY (AGAIN)
We are jealous of trees,anchored as we areto a grasping earth,able to tear free onlymomentarily or withthe help of machines, for trees can approachthe clouds, swaddleall manner of birds,and, we are certain,know heaven moreintimately than we can. And trees are jealousof birds, able to flywell above their highestbranches, knowingthe true blue of the skyand the…
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MORNING SKY
The morning skymaculate with tiny cloudsscattered about the endless blue,denied the promised rain. The wind grew angryhaving nothing to propelthrough the azure emptinessand rifled the trees seeking music. There is nothing to knowon such mornings, no languageneeded or permitted, there is onlythe sky awaiting the sun’s arrival. We are invited to watch,asked to gaze deeply…
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CATHARTIDAE
They circle slowlyeach in its own tierof a near cloudless sky,their wings stillas if frozen, ridingthe breeze, dippingand rising, going nowhere,needing nowhere,riding, riding, lookingdown at the wetland,and circling, untilwith a shift in the breezethe vulture vortexshifts east, and youwatch them shrink,thankful that theyare simply outfor a flight, and notfinding a mealin the reedsand treeswhere allthe…
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PARKING
It is the difference I always noticebetween small and large cities: the parks. When you sit deeply withinBoston Commons or Central Parkyou can feel the city alwaysthreatening to encroach andonce again make you its prisoner,smell and hear the city, trafficand trucks rumbling, hornsplayed in a cacophonous symphony. In small cities you can sit in a…
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IN THE JUNGLE
If you close your eyesyou can imagine that this gardenwas once a tropical jungleas imagined by some cleverFloridian striving to separatemore tourists from theirdwindling travellers checks. It has been carefully done over,plants native and ornamentalreplacing the vines and trees,the alligators, real and imaginarygone, now an exhibit of Lego animals,the orchids in bloom, andyou wonder why…
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an old writer and his words 