Far & Wide Day by Day

Our Time, it is Not Long

fwooo… kshhhh… fwooooo…. kssshhhhhh… etc.

The golden glow curls, breaks, flits & sprays –– wow. And does it again, and does it again, and does it again… Get it? Better stay until I’m bored. Let it sink, drink it up, punch it IN –– the IN within will have to come out someday.

fields astride, nantuket

What lies behind rolls, glimmers and shimmers in macrocosm all the way across the Atlantic and to ports unknown. Grass under gray sky dances in mimicry of ancient ocean. Concord of Nature Itself –– together, separate, as one & alone –– perfect.
The infancy of love, the nascent of ‘until death do us part’ and the Decent of death. Hands that can't warm themselves anymore make their last impression. The last hurrah of Wadleigh’s infinite wisdom. Two loons, full of Moon & Rusty Nails fear not death and stand, sing & wail, triumphant with life. Let it be, Benny.

through halos and rolls and gold folds

Visions on the pond. Revealing and naked again – nothing new here but vision remembered – ahhh. A return. Evening fall is blessing the earth – tragic and hopeful clouds of golden glow. And dusk returns again – the Pond calls it a day. Yet another successful day of reflecting, shimmering, lapping, madly capping and quiet again – gone. Reflecting seagulls, birds, big dumb dogs, fisherman with sad tragic big brown eyes, eagles & jet trails scratching at perfect blue purity. The pond never holds on – lets them come lets them go. Great god clouds of evening – white, gold, red, blackens - moon. And the walkers cease walking.

And spring is exploding out of the earth again. Never ceasing to soften, warm and amaze even the hard hearted hardest New Englander. Old Yankees resigned to stubborn-lostness cant help but to turn inward to the life exploding outward.

The Dusk is rolling over the earth – painting red skies and making clouds glow all over the earth. Rolling in one swath across lands, trees ants and seas. But the falling sun is constant - unfolding somewhere and will make its way back tomorrow and paint a new canvas here with all the gusto of a Man eating Bouillabaisse. Leaving black blotches in the bushes it reddens skies westward. And Oh the sorrow – knowing that you cant drink it in enough – cant punch it deep enough in your gut – and cant ever puke it up better than Nature itself! And its all yours for $425.

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ART + BRUNCH. 3.30.08

Wisconsin

Well by and by I begin feeling the boyhood summer vacation days sinking back in - 1298 miles (google map) from birth in the great Eau Claire, Wisconsin. It is a mid-summer funeral vacation and woe my Grandmother is dead – is dead – is dead. Blonde hair blue-eyed strapping Viking babies and rugose relatives never before seen by me. And by and by I see life on the Chippewa River is free and easy – just like I remember floating homemade mini canoes down imagined rapids and following with wide eyes to great beyond – never to learn its fate.

Now seeing big red rock bluff cut through the landscape with easy river below on which ancient feather Indians paddled white birch canoes. And lo and behold I am back in my room of central air conditioning (everybody has it out here) to escape from the cicada humming heat bouncing off vacant parking lots of a million Wisconsin summers. And Ahhhh day-time TV of infinite boyhood summer afternoon ennui (Price is Right, Gilligan, Monkees etc.) – you will never be as free with this glorious slow down of time and naaathin’ to do. And lo and behold – a Cubs game – the humm drum shhh shooosh of day time baseball game and soon – A NAP!

Later to be reacquainted with Jell-o salad, Brats, Beer and that ubiquitous macaroni dish. “go home and get married…boy I tell ya when I was your age…” ya good luck ho ho ho me thinks but don’t protest too much.

And OOOO don’t cha’ know visions of Franz Kline and Mayberry all rolled in to one.