spring

The road the road just south of Frenchtown the poem

the one by Mordecai the river the river the

one on my left if I am travelling north the

car a box with wires loose on top of my

left leg the radio fine the light behind

behind the clock not working the rose so dead

I am ashamed the crows too shiny their feathers

too wet the cliff on my right too red the blood

the blood of an animal, a skunk, they bleed

and stink, they stink and bleed, the monkey on top

of me, a New World monkey, not a howler,

an organ-grinder monkey, a capuchin,

his small red hat is on my head and he’s

on my back, he’s dropping orange peels down my neck

March 22nd on the Delaware River.

Poem by Gerald Stern

carnival photo by me

.

southeast of eden

Together they took the least space they could.

Entered each other deeply, to be less,

to throw one shadow only, to be still

for all the world while moving for each other.

—So space, so barely dented, might not bruise

and cry, and time come running. To this end

breaths went untaken till the only end

of that (this side of nothing): the great sigh

that gives the place away . . .

............................And out they come,

exiting one another with the kiss

to heal the bruise and be the bruise and there

they sit. The only angel in this case

came only there to point them, in their first

amazing silence, to two peaceful desks.

--Glyn Maxwell

...

For me, the good ones are the ones you take in over and over and think you don't completely understand, but feel you almost do.

video post: ukulele stuff

ukulele for a british ninja from simone bui on Vimeo.

A short tiny simple island folkish song thing I made up. Can't help strumming with my middle (banjo frailing) finger.

a lasting opus

Looking down from the 2nd balcony of the symphony hall, I sat with a lump in my throat listening to the orchestra rehearsal of Beethoven's Symphony No. 1 and then eventually, the amazing, incredible Symphony No. 5 Op. 67 in C Minor. Experienced live in a music hall with violins, piccolos, oboes, flutes, horns and cellos--with a German Spaniard colorfully conducting at the helm--this is music that affirmed my soul and put tears behind my eyes, and makes me want to believe in people, and myself, again. Ludwig van Beethoven was a sublime, emotional genius, and the musicians who can do justice to his vision, brilliant. Wonderful, transcendent..even in the mid-day grit of every day life.

I wish everyone had access to excellent, live music. Street musicians, rush tickets, open rehearsals, free concerts and recitals at the local conservatories and even free weekly banjo, fiddle and cello jamborees squeezed in at Sandy's help fill in the gaps.

colors of warmth

As seen on Modica Way, b.k.a. Central Kitchen alley in Cambridge. Caustic pungent smells aside, a little slice of lovely on a warm fall day when the sun--barely high in the sky--floods light through a colored plexiglass canopy.

Like walking through a rainbow.

toasty'ing

Chilly, grey New England evening--a first in a long line of way, way too many. But homemade apple streusel in the oven and hot chai tea on the stove is meant to ward off the brrrrr, and help to warm up and cozy in.

I take it that our big, sweet fluffy friend, who comes over for lovin' every time we visit the rescue farm down the road, is not as wimpy about the cold. We like to thank him (and his posse) for giving us the fleece shirt off his back by rubbing his snout, which he tells us he enjoys by closing his eyes and standing quietly. The natural lanolin in his fro helps keep our icy hands warm and soft.

Still, I kind of like snuggly autumn warming up rituals. There's some kind of depth there that summer, lovely (mighty, mighty lovely) as she is, doesn't seem to have.

So, yeah, bet he sneaks a mug of frothy hot chocolate in the sheep barn when we aren't looking. His body might not need it, but his heart prolly does.

video post: melodica stuff

pink (ish) panther from simone bui on Vimeo.

Holy moly. Playing the melodica and piano at the same time is tricky.

..

adapting, adjusting

by Paul Madonna

More existentially angst-ridden tuberous starch at www.angrylittlepotatoes.com.

imprinting

gone insecting

Outfitted with a net, jam jars and a hand lens, we marched off to sunny meadows in search of bugs. Kids LOVE bugs, and somewhere along the way into adulthood, it seems many of us leave behind our innate fascination and curiosity for these tiny, amazing, important creatures. Would we care more if they weren't so small? If they were furry and cute or more massive and magnificent? I don't know. But I do know he and I are pretty enchanted. Without insects who occupy the bottom rungs as primary consumers of the food chain, we would have far fewer species of flowers and plants who need those insects for pollination and thus, fewer furry, cute animals who eat those plants for food. In turn, there would be fewer apex predators, like wolves and people. And without the right number of tertiary animals out there pouncing on prey, the whole food chain / healthy ecosystem thing sorta just crumbles. They may be little buggers, but we can't survive without them.

Above: Ruby Meadowhawk Dragonfly we caught one late afternoon (no worries, she was not harmed. We are a strict gentle catch & release operation)!

i know how the duck feels

We had just capped off one of the last of the summer beach days by going to get burgers and shakes. It was one of those places that had a few of those old school gumball machines with crazy cheap toys and bouncy balls inside. I slipped in a quarter, he turned the crank and out tumbled a dozen of these little plastic bubbles not much bigger than an acorn. Some time later, I found him sweetly playing with these tiny treasures. I took one of the animals out of its plastic bubble and I heard him gasp.

"They come out?!"

falling

Shorter days mean less sunshine. As sunlight wanes, chlorophyll wanes, and the green of leaves fade altogether, revealing brilliant red & yellow pigments that were always there. And as sunlight ebbs, these leaves will fall off completely so the tree can slow down, preserve its energy and go into rest. It seems people (at least in New England) prep for a similar dormancy process as well. Our moods change. Our clothing and its colors go from light and airy to dark and heavy. We winterize the homestead, clear our gardens, can fruit, freeze vegetables, gather wood, harvest crops, clean our rifles and true our wagon wheels. The dry air will soon make our hair look dull and lifeless, not unlike the trees outside our dewey windows. We turn inward, hunker down and pull out the unfinished winter projects: a knit scarf, quilted squares, birdhouses, colonization of small defenseless nations. We go from baking in the sun to baking in the oven. And soup. We will make enough vats of soup to feed starving Napoleonic armies.

...

Yeah, maybe we're nothing like the trees.

busy as a beaver

I had written a post about the amazing flurry of fall wildlife activity I had recently observed one afternoon. Fall season is a wonderful time to pull on a sweater and be outdoors. But then I realized that probably very few want to read about why salamanders and frogs are so busy this time of year, or how to find them chillin' under heavy logs in a muddy forest floor. Fewer would agree that they are so cute.

Photo by Leo Kenney, Mass Audubon

I know I shouldn't be writing about the mid-flight mating practices of dragonflies and why they must lay their eggs before the first frost. Because it's not that amazing to stand in an open meadow as a pair of still-mating dragonflies land on your arm long enough to get a close look at their shimmering colors, or to see them fly off soaring and diving in perfect unison.

So what about the huge striped monarch caterpillar I saw feeding on milkweed or about the strict migrating schedule of monarchs who head to Mexico for empanadas and margaritas? And then a fuzzy woolly bear caterpillar tried to crawl into my sleeve, following its instinct to burrow into darker, warmer ground this time of year, but it's not like I'm gonna write about it.

Because everyone is tired of reading about migratory birds flying south, riding the thermal currents as they journey south thousands of miles to within yards of the very place they and their ancestors have gone to for a thousand years. One of my favorite evening sounds in the fall are the flocks of geese and other birds flying through the night skies, calling and singing to one another as they work together to make sure no one gets lost from the pack. But that's just corny.

And because beavers are busiest in the fall, they understand why we don't have time to write about how magnificent and industrious they are. Or how they mate for life and live together like a westward pioneering family, prepping for winter by fixing or building dams to ensure proper water levels and then building up and winterizing their beaver lodge homes.

Photo by J.N. Stuart

It is quite rare to actually see the nocturnal beaver but I did come across several scent mounds, half a dozen beaver chews, and a few abandoned lodges in one afternoon. I won't tell you how it sparked utter joy and wonder, especially when sharing it with your child, or anyone's child really.

Pfff, it's understandable why people yawn when I get excited and tell them how incredible it is to see an active beaver lodge. Because no one, but no one, wants to know that a plump, chubby beaver family was snuggled up inside, grand buck-teeth incisors everywhere as they snored, dreaming their little beaver dreams...

Big whoop!

zoom zoom

When I was 18 and ready to buy my first set of wheels, I combed the classifieds for months for a cheap 5-speed Karmann Ghia that wasn't one lugnut away from collapse. I dreamed of long drives along the unfettered Northern California coast and road trips to Lake Tahoe. How I loved, and still love, overland travel and exploration. Land stretching to the horizon ahead, and a zoomin' car and paved road to take me there. Backcountry, local characters and quirky neighborhoods and shops keep it real. Possibility, misadventure and a Mug root beer at each rest stop. I hope for adventurous road trips with my own family someday. Except that, only thing is, you see, there's this thing about cars and our car driven / dependent culture of waste and consumption totally destroying the earth. So as I guzzle the gas, these thoughts tug at me fitfully. Truth is, there are many contradictions and hypocrasies in life I haven't reconciled. Except for the one about there being outstanding contradictions I haven't reconciled.

This red one is my favorite of his toy cars. It's kind of beautiful, in its tiny toy way.