"Things I've Seen Looking In"
photo by Paro Ivo
Testing Gravity
Everyday you test gravity.
You charge the steep hill on your ’57 Schwinn.
You fly for awhile, Standing as you pedal, getting into it.
Cars pass you by
You pass by parked cars.
The grade slows you down. And then you can’t
go anymore. You could cut across the paved hill
Weave back and forth to climb higher,
but you’re not ready for that.
Everyday you take it straight on. Get a little further.
Yesterday, the green house with the white rock lawn.
Today, the periwinkle mailbox.
You stop, astride your ride, heaving, breathing heavy
Precious sweat dripping down your face, under your shirt,
On your chest, a faint recollection.
Strength a distance memory.
A smile.
A periwinkle mailbox.
What you need.
You wonder who paints their mailbox this fanciful color?
They wonder who rides an old bike up a steep hill?
Everyday we test gravity.
Cracks
photo by Jim Woessner
Moving Current
When I was a kid we moved every year. Once, on my 8th birthday, we moved across the street by dolly - after blowing out the candles and eating a slice of Devil's Food chocolate. The next year we moved down the street. In 7th grade we moved three times. Later, with my own family we slowed the pace, moving every four years or so. In the country, we moved down the lane and used our riding mower - it was the great Riding Mower Move of 2005. This month we are moving to the houseboat next door in what may become known as the Great Shopping Cart Move of 2016. And now, as my old friend Stuart, the sailor who skippered charter boats with his young family for years likes to say, ' it's time to swallow the anchor."
Captain Hook
feline of south forty
Tongs Overboard
I was grilling chicken and green peppers when the tongs slipped out of my hand. In disbelief, I watched as they sank below the water's green surface, tho it may have been the scotch that was disbelieving. Wasn't the first time. These things happen. I've seen tradesmen drop a screwdriver and watch it sink, then fish it out with a magnet on a string. Me, I was in the heat of dinner, watching the timer on my iPhone, sipping Johnny Walker Black. Magnet-less. There was nothing to do but grab the spare tongs, save the peppers and chicken, and wait for morning's lowtide. Next day, with a mug of coffee and the net from the end of the dock, I rescued my beloved tongs after a no-doubt long, chilly, muddy night on the bottom of the channel next to the aging finger pier. Magnets, nets on poles, & low tide. Scotch & Wrecking Ball joe. A satisfying rescue. This is the stuff of adventure, when you're afloat on a boathouse and drop your tongs.
Blaze
things I've seen float by
Resting on A Rail
I Think I Know The Feeling
