Today

4th of July 2020

Julian

Little chipmunk that lives under the shed,

having his breakfast

Social Distancing

                                                                                              awynart2020

They're BACK!!!!!!!

Two rain days last week & the snow is pretty much almost all gone.

Nice little surprise this morning while out back feeding the tiny birds:  

                                THE GEESE ARE BACK!!!

I so admire their native stick-to-it-iveness. (They can travel 800 miles a day if necessary).

Been watching their departures at the beginning of winter every year, and their return at the beginning of spring. It never gets old.

Two weeks now into self-isolation due to Covid-19.  It's so quiet.

No traffic, no chatter, only the birds and the wind.

You can wave hello to the mailman or the garbage truck guys, or see an occasional

neighbor walking solo outside past your window --but for the most part life-as-usual

is on hold.  (Two and a half more weeks to go till we know when (or if) this new 'now' will be extended.) 

Introverts have an easier time of it.  Also, you spend less $ and learn to be

more self-reliant.  It forces you to look at things differently, that you might not have

done so otherwise.  Kind of like a forced re-setk, that you can learn from.

Life goes on. 

Welcome back, geese!

old untitleds, resurfacing

awyn inkwash 2013

you wake up only when
the dream you're having
can no longer come true

you wake up only when
it's the same old you again
and not that dream person

you wake up in suspense
at what will happen next in
the dream that just ended

              ~~  Bill Knott

Please, no more

-13 F but at least it's sunshiny out 

The Day Democracy Died

 

"Out of these gawky flitterings . . . emptiness"

No Possum, No Sop, No Taters

He is not here, the old sun,

As absent as if we were asleep.

The field is frozen. The leaves are dry.

Bad is final in this light.

In this bleak air the broken stalks

Have arms without hands. They have trunks

Without legs or, for that, without heads.

They have heads in which a captive cry

Is merely the moving of a tongue.

Snow sparkles like eyesight falling to earth,

Like seeing fallen brightly away.

The leaves hop, scraping on the ground.

It is deep January. The sky is hard.

The stalks are firmly rooted in ice.

It is in this solitude, a syllable,

Out of these gawky flitterings,

Intones its single emptiness,

The savagest hollow of winter sound.

It is here, in this bad, that we reach

The last purity of the knowledge of good.

The crow looks rusty as he rises up.

Bright is the malice in his eye ...

One joins him there for company,

But at a distance, in another tree.

-- Wallace Stevens