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Something That Will Not Rest
I have been a foolish, greedy, and ignorant man; Yet I have had my time beneath the sun and stars; I have known the returning strength and sweetness of the seasons, Blossom on the branch and the ripening of fruit, The deep rest of the grass, the salt of the sea, The frozen ecstasy of mountains. The earth is nobler than the world we have built upon it; The earth is long-suffering, solid, fruitful; The world is still shifting, dark, half-evil. But what have I done that I should have a better world, Even though there is in me something that will not rest Until it sees Paradise…? Johnson in…
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Those Who Are Aware
Some years ago, we obtained a pretty little house plant with dark green, white-speckled leaves. The plant is known as a scindapsus pictus, or “argyraeus.” Not long after my wife installed it on the baker’s rack in the kitchen, it began to climb the wall behind the rack. We were utterly charmed by the little suckers the plant used to attach itself, and by what a living presence it was, even sitting among some other, more dramatically-leaved plants. Each tiny, pale shoot of jade at the end of the vine was cause for exclamation. Several weeks ago, while cleaning around the baker’s rack, I managed to tear the vine away…
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Returning Home
Sunday evening, a flicker landed in the snow outside the door. He drilled down like a sewing machine in search of his meal, solitary in the white yard, looking around as he did his work He must have seen me taking photos through the window, because the flicker flew over to the weeping willow tree and perched on the trunk for several minutes, looking fat and sleek, before he departed for the deeper woods. When I returned home last night, I was so glad to see Jinx and he was so glad to see me, we danced around each other. He barked and whined and did his best to tell…
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The Twelfth Of Ever
We slept in our recliners again last night, and it was a good sleep, as soundless and swaying as if we had been in the depths of the salty sea. Good until 1:30 AM, that is. That was the hour Jinx decided to say hello to his cousins, the coyotes, who were up on the far ridge singing their aria to the open face of the moon. He was right under the windows behind us, and he chuffed one short bark, then lifted his voice in a baritone howl that lasted a good quarter of a minute. I sat up and felt the atavistic hair on the back of my…
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Stories And Wishes
“Once upon a time…” Those words, flowing from the mouth of my mother or a school teacher, or rising off the page to meet me — those words were enough to fill me with the most immediate of joys. A story was beginning. Troubles were coming for the young hero. A battle of some sort was about to be joined. Disaster would come so close. And then good would win the day, and with the end of the story would come relief…and the desire to hear it again. I suspect that many people today think of their lives as a movie, starring themselves, complete with soundtrack and innovative camera angles.…
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Lances In Darkness
Because we didn’t own a car when I was a boy, I was always thrilled to ride in one. The speed of modern transport has never lost its magic for me, and this perpetual appreciation stems from remembering how it feels to walk to or from home when hot and tired while watching cars purr past with their air conditioning and comfortable bench seats. I used to play a mental game anytime I rode in a car. I would imagine I had a long, long sword, sharper than the stropped razor’s in R.V.’s barber shop, longer than a vaulter’s pole, extending out the passenger side window. And as we would…
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Sands, Running
We’ve had a respite from the August heat for a few days. This past weekend, it was so chilly in the mornings and evenings, I had to put on a light jacket in order to sit outside comfortably. This coming weekend is supposed to be more typical of late August, with temperatures back up in the mid-to-high 80s. But the sphere is tilting and the sands are running through the narrow neck, and the effects, while slight, are most definitely there. The crickets keep up a steady chorus. The little things that migrate are extra-busy, flitting and feeding constantly. The leaves are applying their grown-up makeup. The late afternoon sun…
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The Potential To Waste
I caught myself. Driving down the mountain, looking at the haze in the air, that wispy harbinger of the 90-degree day just then in blossom, I caught myself in a familiar and hated ritual: rehearsing and rehashing all the resentment and distaste I have for the behavior of the people with whom I work every day. Like most people, the quotidian necessities of my life require that I spend a large portion of my life in close contact with a group of people with whom — if I had a realistic choice — I would not even be near for more than five minutes. All the petty squabbles, the laziness…