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Haiku For Bird
Capped Cardinal White-headed red bird Different — does she know it? Her fledglings stay close. ~ S.K. Orr
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The Cold Rolling Towards Me
I began this post in longhand, sitting at my desk this morning, allegedly working, watching tufts of cool mist hanging in the air outside the glass door. This is the time of year when the nearest neighbor is separating his cows from the calves, in preparation for market. The worried mamas have been bawling all day, as they have been for the two days before. The air over the farm is anxious, fretful, which is a shame, because we’ve just gotten our first dose of fall-like weather, about 50F at night and in the mid-70s today, air as clear as an infant’s eyes, same deep blue, same lack of omens…
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Nine Eleven
Neither Mrs. Orr nor I even thought about it being 9/11 today until almost noon. We haven’t been paying attention to any news here in the USA, but have instead been enjoying watching a lot of BBC and Queen Elizabeth II’s funeral preparations and King Charles III’s proclamations and preparations for coronation in the future. It’s really interesting to watch the BBC. It’s declined a lot over the years but it still much more watchable than anything on American tv. I remember being in Scotland many years ago and loving the BBC Radio’s Third Programme, which always had classical music, spoken verse, short stories read aloud, and music and literary…
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The Way of Walking Alone — 3
Do not, under any circumstances, depend on a partial feeling. Miyamoto Musashi Dokkodo ~ S.K. Orr
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The Queen is Dead — Long Live the King
May Elizabeth Regina II rest in peace, and may God grant His Majesty King Charles III grace and wisdom on the throne of England. He will be crowned in a completely different world than the one that existed when his mother began her long reign. ~ S.K. Orr
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At the Curtain of Dusk
During a recent trip to the county dump, I tossed all of our garbage into dumpsters, then took a baggie of dry dog food from the front seat and poured the cup or so of food onto the gravel. I didn’t see the little cat that has greeted me for a while now, and I called to her, but she didn’t show. Driving out of the parking lot, I noticed for the first time a sign that warned against feeding feral cats, and indicating that anyone caught doing so would be considered the cat’s owner and would be responsible for damages and any fees incurred. I shrugged it off, but…
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September Morn
Today is, as near as we have been able to figure, Jinx and Bluebelle’s third birthday. When I walked out of the bedroom this morning the spotted twins were waiting for me. I sat down and they jumped all over me, greeting me. And JInx, predictably, scratched me with one of his ragged claws in his exuberance. I was grateful that he got me in the beard-covered area of my chin; the swipe drew blood. But it was okay. It’s the heeler twins’ birthday, but they are gifts to us. So Happy Birthday, you wild, rambunctious rumpus-makers. We’re so glad you’re here with us. ~ S.K. Orr
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Synchronicity and Sadness
My friend William James Tychonievich writes frequently, eloquently, and in a lively manner about the synchronicity he observes in his daily life. Today I thought of WJT when I learned that a talented but erratic country singer named Luke Bell apparently killed himself yesterday, the same day I learned of the suicide of my childhood friend Len. Mr. Bell seems to have lived a life that could be accurately described as tortured, and the life-taking whispers that chased him for much of his life finally overtook him. You don’t have to listen to many of his songs to recognize his talent and his emotional depth. I thought I would post…
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Into The Void Before Sundown
The first time I met Len, he had just arrived at our elementary school, a transplant from California, which made him interesting and exotic to someone from Pig’s Knuckle Junction like myself. He was taller than me, Nordic blonde, and bore a resemblance to Glen Campbell. Len had a great line of patter and that flat, explosively-bitten-off accent that Californians flaunt. We became fast buddies and palled around together from the get-go. We both loved tetherball, which was the rage in the elementary schoolyards during that age. We would race to the poles when the recess bell rang and play furiously until time to return to class. Len had been…
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The Way of Walking Alone – 2
Do not seek pleasure for its own sake. Miyamoto Musashi Dokkodo ~ S.K. Orr