Photographs
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Where I Am
For the past two days, a charcoal-gray tabby cat has strolled across the patio in front of the door next to which I sit while I work. Today I managed to get up and open the door before he got out of my field of vision. When I opened the door a crack, he scampered under the front barn and disappeared. Mrs. Orr and I were talking about him last night after I told her about seeing him, and she remarked that he would be welcome if he were a good mouser and could pull his own weight. This morning at about 0400, Bluebelle, she of the keen ears and…
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The Day Off
The Day Off I took the day off and the road took me Between the hedgerows and the fields The clouds were swollen and they looked to be Forming up and set to peal. The cattle nodded as they chewed their hay The sun was hidden, yet it shone; I knew the coming rain would soon obscure The moon, that hook of bone. The squirrels scattered through the leaves They threw their dice and won And all the old prayers then were ceased As on the road walked one Who breathed my syllables and shook my head And came about towards my home And stopped before the dormant vines of…
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A.D. 2023
We reflexively say “Happy New Year” to each other, but this year, the phrase feels foreign and odd. So I will say to you all, may this year be a year of good choices and noble behavior on your part, and may each day bring you a greater sense of meaning, that you are not merely existing and waiting to escape this life, but rather that you are wringing every bit of experience and fullness from each day. And perhaps this will lead not just to happiness, but also to deep, serene contentment. And that would be a happy new year. ~ S.K. Orr
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The Individual Name
I have long believed that the voiceless things in the world around us – the trees, the stones, for example – are aware of us, of our movement among them. This morning, sitting at my desk at work in my home office, I watched the birds in the grass outside and smiled at their antics, and then I found myself watching the weeping willow tree a dozen yards from the door. Leafless and still, it seemed to be looking back at me. And for the first time, a question arose: do the trees and the rocks and the other silent things out there have names? I don’t mean names as…
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The Watched
A few years ago, I watched a documentary about a young girl in Germany who was abducted by a deranged man and held captive in his basement for years. I can’t recall the circumstances, but she eventually escaped or was rescued. She described her hellish time in her suburban prison, recalling how she was able to see out of a barred basement window, catching daily glimpses of people going about their lives, walking their dogs, arguing with traffic policemen, lifting their faces to the warming sun or huddling in their heavy winter coats against the wind. The young woman recalled how desperate she was to be able to call out…
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Winter Rampant
Ah, it’s a winter day and the breathing of the year is slowing down, agonal, soon to stop. The endless circling of the stars and the thin shafts of sunlight spear down into the earth and bring a certain gladness, it seems to me, to the birds who go about their business above me. The frost retreats from the heat of my thumb, pressed against the grainy glass of the windshield in passing, a reminder that I still have within me the heat of the life-force, the soul-ember that can melt the deep cold that exists between the planets, that exists between men of the same bloodline who should be…
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Merry Christmas
Mrs. Orr and I want to wish each of you, those who are kind enough to visit this little blog, a very Merry Christmas. And God bless us, everyone. ~ S.K. Orr
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Bless The Beasts
Last night while my wife and I were relaxing, I watched the spotted twins romp. The ever-sleeping Dixee paid them no heed, continuing to slumber in her little bed by my wife’s chair, undisturbed in her deafness and warm in her sweater. It’s never a sure bet as to which dog will start the donnybrook. When Jinx does it, he usually sits above Bluebelle and growls at her, a rising wail that concludes with three or four sharp barks. While he’s barking at his sister, he’s looking around at us to see if we’re watching. Then he moves to Bluebelle and starts gnawing on a leg or snapping at her…
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Behind A Pane of Glass
In 1992, the English poet Elizabeth Jennings was awarded the Commander of the British Empire (CBE) by Queen Elizabeth II for “highly distinguished and innovative contribution on a national level.” By this time, Jennings, a fragile and eccentric woman and a brilliant poet, was beginning to show stress marks. She was increasingly reclusive and erratic, and perhaps many of her friends thought she was fantasizing when she told them that she would receive the CBE from Her Majesty, the Queen. On the day of the ceremony at Buckingham Palace, Jennings’ sister Aileen helped her dress for the event. She wore a flowered skirt, knitted sweater, red wool beret, black oversize…
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Before Winter’s Solstice
Early this morning, I dreamed I was standing at my mother’s grave, down there in the flat delta where the cotton fields stretch like bolts of corduroy for monotonous miles. In my dream, I wanted to say some words to Mother, because I knew that she would be able to hear and understand me, but I could not bring myself to speak. There were leaves blown against her little tombstone with the hummingbird carved into its sleek surface, and they seemed to be telling me that it was all gone, my life and difficult relationship with that haunted little woman, that no matter what I might say to her, none…