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Quiet Entry
Purple-Hull pea blossom The first Sunday of fall, and it has strolled in quietly. The sky is completely overcast, but no approach of rain. It was chilly enough on the front porch this morning for me to have to don a light jacket. Mrs. Orr and I sat out there, her shelling peas, me watching the birds. A downy woodpecker was on the downed pine, his steady staccato attack ringing across the valley. A pair of titmice took turns bathing in the birdbath while a goldfinch perched at the edge, sipping and watching. A murmuration of starlings in the next pasture swung and swooped and startled my wife with…
- Bluebelle, Daily Life, I Never Thought I'd Be In This Situation, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Photographs, Reflections
Joy & Sun & Peas & Nails On Woden’s Day
…they chafe their knees….(Bluebelle) I was out in the sun today, which felt blissful. My solar therapy was inspired by a neighbor of ours who recently described a conversation she had with a doctor about her difficulty maintaining a good sleep pattern. Since this is something that affects both Mrs. Orr and me, we were very attentive to her description of the chat she had with the sawbones. Our neighbor’s doctor recommended she go outside and take the sun for about 20 minutes twice a day, between 0700 and 0900 each morning, and again within the last two hours before sundown, whether sunny or cloudy, since the sun’s rays penetrate…
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Days Upon Days
The temperatures are so very mild here now…about 72F , sunny and mild, with rock-bottom humidity. The sensitive antennae of my bones tell me that winter will approach with more speed than I had anticipated. Mrs. Orr and I were talking recently about how we used to dread the hot weather — because in Texas, that’s really all we had — and how we welcomed the fall and winter months. Not no more, ese! The cold has an effect that it didn’t in our salad days, so there is a novel sense of dread now with the shifting sun patterns and the almost-chilly breeze. I am watching the hummingbirds closely,…
- Bluebelle, Books, Church Life, Daily Life, Dixee, Dreams, Jinx, Mrs. Orr, Music, Photographs, Quotations, Reflections
Royal Pains
It’s raining softly here today, and the valley is quiet except for the protestations of cows who are methodically being separated from their calves. We love the rain and the clouds, but there is an uncharacteristic sad feeling in the very air. And time is passing much too quickly. There is some Alanis-level irony in the fact that the squash we so carefully planted in the garden has done poorly, but one lone “volunteer” plant that sprang up, probably because of a bird depositing a seed, in a bed of shrubs bordering the back porch. This one unintentional plant has provided enough good squash for several meals so far, and…
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Labor Day
The humidity was heavy in the air this morning, much more pronounced than yesterday. It will be an oppressively hot day, but looking at the calendar, I am mindful that this will change more quickly than I like to believe. The sun is beginning to get that Emily Dickinson “certain slant” to it, and the days and evenings feel slightly different, as though there has been some subtle but great turning — which there has. This earth is moving and tilting in preparation for the months that will bring winter to this hemisphere. When I look at the skies, whether in the blue of day or the pinpricked black of…
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The Only Day
Today marks the ninth anniversary of the day my mother departed this life and went on to the next one. My sister and I chatted about this last night, remembering some of the happy times and some of the not-so-happy times we shared with the stoic, flinty old woman who gave us life and fed us and sheltered us and tried to guide us. I miss you, Mother, and I love you. I hope to see you again when my own time comes to sail into the west. *** It’s still hot here and will reach 90 today and for the remainder of the week, but the mornings have been…
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Comprehendest Thou This?
Comprehendest Thou This? Here, honey, I’ll let you out, I said, And twisted the knob and pushed the screen, and out Into the muggy twilight she went, tail Curved over her brindled back. Why Do you talk to it as if it understands You? he said, his face the same sneer As his entire stretch of decades of life Had been. I stabbed back with How do you know She doesn’t? Whatever bad smell he carried in his Nostrils seemed to worsen as he put His head to the side and hissed Every rational Person knows animals don’t comprehend Human speech. I met him with And where Did you learn…
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The Thirteenth of August
Today would have been her 103rd birthday, and her absence these nine years has left a divot on my life’s surface. I miss her, and I am glad she isn’t here to see what has become of her country and her region. Seeing such ugliness would have grieved her tough, hidden old heart. Her middle name was Viola, which she hated. I always loved it, thinking it had a Southern literary lilt to it, like Eudora or Flannary, and I would sometimes address her by it, which enraged her. “Viola,” I’d say, “Reckon what it would take to get you to make me some bacon for supper?” And she would…
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Wanderings, Wonderings
There’s a certain liquid but frictioned struggle when I walk through the grass in the morning after it rains. My feet, less sure now, more prone to missteps and the cruelty of unbalancing, skim through the green sea of clover and vetch, leaving long strokes like ski tracks behind me. But I do not turn to look at these tracks as I walk, because I do not trust my own footfalls. This, then, is what aging is: a gradual mistrust of all the powers and agile techniques and reflexive movements that I once took for granted, like a good Catholic who, when he sees death’s cowled head bobbing up over…
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Like Malice
Like Malice I tugged a stone from my cell of soil, My personal earth, curved and grainy in the Bottom of its pock. I saw them — tumbling, They were. And I heard them — cursing, they were. And I was their god, and my glance Hardly touched their humped and hurrying backs As they set about –and without Hesitation– the rebuilding of The lanes and homes and secret sinks of kin And kind, sparing neither glare nor stare For me, the shaker of their roots, but Instead, ran and rang their tiny bells And called a convocation that could point Their group towards a fresh beginning in Tomorrow’s rays.…