Monday, September 10, 2018

Morning Rain

In the early, early morn
The gentle rhythm of rain
Pattering on my roof
Brings a meditative awakening.

Without conscious thought
The cleansing away
Of troublesome dreams
Leaves peaceful serenity.

To the balcony I traipse 
Soaking up the music;
Tapping, dripping, splashing
On the pavement below.

And so it is with
Cleansed mind and soul
I greet the new day

Infused with a 5 year old’s enthusiasm.

Monday, June 11, 2018

Morning on the river

Dawn arrives early this time of year. She was up and reflecting off the feathery white clouds lingering lazily over the sky-blue river.
A blue jay lands on the clothesline from the nearby cedar tree; seemingly looks me in the eye as I peer out the kitchen door’s window and squawking as if to say; food, food, feed me.
The Blue heron lingers, fishing off the rock pile, that once supported our no longer existent dock, for nearly 20 minutes. Perhaps looking for a crayfish breakfast

Two mallards frolic nearby, while further out a lone cormorant dives in search of fish.
A gaggle with goslings float to within a foot of the boat ramp staring at the driftwood snake placed across the ramp by me to deter the geese from leaving their excrement on the lawn.

  It worked; after a few minutes of evaluating said “sculpture,” they reenter the river and continue west, up river.
In the background a laker floats by; movement almost imperceptible on the glassy surface.

Ahh, morning, the river community awakens.

Saturday, April 07, 2018

Triolet to Spring

                         Triolet to Spring

Spring, April spring, where art thou Spring?
Why-for has’t thou forsaken me?
Birds, so frigid, can barely sing. 
Spring, April spring, where art thou Spring?
Flowers in frozen ground still cling.
New leaf buds absent from your tree.
Spring, April spring, where art thou Spring?

Why-for has’t thou forsaken me?

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

Circadian upset

In the midnight blue
     Of autumn's night
I ponder my circadian plight.

Plying my craft from dawn
     To dusk
Back to my abode I trod,
     An empty husk.

The sofa beckons my weary bod.
     Eyelids flutter;
The new's "music" makes me nod.

Then at bedtime , do I awaken.
     Refreshed anew,
 Alert, my rhythm shaken.

But again when Moon is nigh,
     I'll briskly walk to work
And lend to you my watchful eye.

Saturday, November 04, 2017

Death of Americana

Remember when we first moved to Main St.?  There were kids In the neighborhood, lots of kids.  The Durant kids, Leblanc kids, Larocks, Meads, Colburns, Van Tassels, Manns, Crings, Otts, Mouricks, Bennetts, Fraser's, Hollerans, Barnes, Wards, Barleys, Wrights, Spillmans, Robinsons, Lacomb's, Caseys, McDougals, McNallys, Bogart's, and Woodcock's, just to name a few.

    Remember the school had 750 students K-12?

Where are all those kids today, 40 years later?

Gone, almost to a person, from the area; gone to areas of greater economic prosperity.

A community will falter and die when its youth leave the nest and don't return to raise their own brood.  

LaRock kids have moved on. The Leblanc house is empty and the Bennett's house is occupied by a childless couple.  The Van Tassel kids are here; Andy and his wife Lynette moved into Colburn's house and have two kids. The Colburns are all out of the area.  All the Spillman, Holleran, and Casey kids have moved on.  The Meade girls are gone as well as Millie Robinson's kids.

A few have stayed: Kevin Crosby, Patrick Barse,  Andy VT, but by and large, the kids that grew up with our kids have moved on, taking the heart of this small rural community with them.

  Now the State is bribing the community (village) to dissolve and become part and parcel of the Town.  The remaining social fabric of the village i.e. the fire Dept. will be hard pressed to hold off the appeal of 50% tax reduction in perpetude.

    And so another remnant of Americana dies away, relegated to memory of the few left who will soon enough take those memories, also, to the graveyard of used-to-be.

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Dream noises

     Two and a half hours after snuggling in the arms of Morpheus, I'm dreaming.  The specifics of the dream leading up to the critical event elude me.  I'm at the top of a stairway with a sack of groceries in my arm; one of those brown paper sacks of old.  There is an abundance of canned goods in the bag and one falls out of the over stuffed sack, ripping the top of the bag just enough to allow another can to fall in pursuit of the first.  Then like a cascade, the cans hit the oak hardwood stairs with resounding bang, bang, booms. Over and over again until I approach wakefulness and the thought; wtf, I didn't have that many cans in the bag.

Groggily my eyes squint open and come to that fleeting realization of a dream fading and reality foggily establishing itself.  But wait; the cans are still banging down the steps; bang, boom, booooomm, bang, bang, boom.

I get up and open the bedroom door and come into the living room to witness Diane and Crystal watching the neighbor's setting off a spectacular fireworks display to rival Morristown's 4th of July fireworks.

" You missed it" they said.
"I can't believe you slept through all those explosions " Diane said.

Sleepily I replied, " I thought it was cans falling down the stairs!"

Peels of laughter echo off the camp walls, drowning out the sounds of tumbling canned goods.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

0% chance of dying

On the "news" this week I saw a piece that said studies have shown that a person drinking one cup of coffee a day reduces their chance of dying by 13%. And if said person drinks 3 cups of coffee, their chance of dying is reduced by 18%.

Doing some extrapolation from "scientific" research I've seen published, I've come to the conclusion that if I drink 3 cups of coffee a day, imbibe 2 glasses of red wine, exercise for 30minutes a day, wear sunblock, establish a large social network, and meditate every morning after sleeping 7 1/2 hours I'll live forever.