Finds

Grande vente de garage at Parc Ile Saint Quentin yesterday.

 What I found:

____________________

a leather-boot keychain, for 25 cents

A lovely green stone necklace, 50 cents

   Two pen holders and 6 drawing nibs (new!!), $1

A black and gold-colored metal wildcat pin, $2

Artwork made from pressed flowers, herbs and seeds

from Quebec artist/botanist Julie Corbeil,

signed and framed,  $4

(This photo doesn't do it justice.)

A little hand-carved wooden figure by
sculptor Robert Jean, of Saint-Jean-Port-Jolie, $1

When I brought him home, I put him next to another carved wooden figure
that I got some years ago that's actually an incense holder.
They seem to be getting along just fine together.

I was not so sure, however, about Francis and François.
Francis is a wooden deer with broken antlers, carved from driftwood, gotten in Vermont.

"Francis"

This carved horse, now called  François, was sitting on a table
 at the garage sale,  ignored by all the passersby.
He reminded me a bit of Francis.  I, too, passed him by -
but then went back.  Something about those eyes. 

His backside includes this gaping hole
that resembles a mouth, howling.

Here's an imaginary (photographic) intro between the two sculptures
as they size each other up.

"Hello, who's this you've brought home with you?"

May I present François, I said,
emphasizing his finer-sculpted points.

Francis checks him out.

No comment.

 François waits.

I'm taller than you, Francis thinks.

You can join me in sentinel duty at the window,

he says, authoritatively.

Because photographers can manipulate perception,

here it would seem they are the same height

and Francis appears more friendly.

As in all contrived, anthropomorphic stories,

a happy ending trumps a not so happy one.

 I truly do not know if Francis and François will get along,

or if the perpetually smiling wooden man won't occasionally

feel like frowning --  but in our world, inanimate objects

don't speak or feel, and so can't really tell us.

And yet they do, when imagination takes over,
giving a tiny, decorative clunk of metal

one pins on a garment, to "accessorize",

the ability to leap, to dream.

"Can I go now?"

Tree Talk

awynfoto2015

Good morning, Maurice

you show-off, you,

conspiring with the sun to make

your limb-shadows dance on my curtains

just so

27 years ago

It's like you're on this long, long journey that never ends, and the
voices in the back keep asking:

Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?

Visitors

. .   

 Little brothers, taking some sun

Frag Jots

awynart

Hanging up clothes in the back yard yesterday

a wave across to neighbor Clement

and his dog Charlotte

who then walk on over and

Clement tells me the tests are back, he has
cancer of the blood and that

despite eating six pieces of toast every morning,

he's still losing weight.  
The neighbor on the other side is moving out
for lack of sleep, on account of her downstairs neighbor who 
despite several visits from the police

(and eviction notice from the landlord)

rampages on.

This morning we'll have rain,

(so the weather people say).

The community garden folks want us there at 9:00
to stake and rope the plots.

A second cup of jumpstart dark-roasted Trader Joe coffee

and I'm off.  Should I or should I not take

an umbrella?

mini rescue

On the way to work this morning, a bee
drowning
in the visitor cat's water bucket.
Lacking a twig or spoon to extract it,
he used his car key - bee stopped
flailing, struggled aboard, got a
short ride, then wobbled off
into the grass. Recovery imminent.

Had he left bee in the carport,
the cat who'd come soon would get curious,
probably get stung - doesn't
need another wound as badge of survival -
like its frost-chewed half
ear, compliments of one more winter
worse than the two last.

Creature headcount stats so far this year -
less bees
   more stray cats
Life coming life going, now
spring, and revival -
until the wind changes
and the drinkwater in the bucket freezes
again.

Whispers from the not-yet garden:
Be back, bee