Looking south near the Marin Highlands
Originally uploaded by gee David
I took this picture last summer and posted it to Flickr. As with the banner of this blog, I thought this was a pretty decent shot for a small, cheap, digital camera. I wish I could say I would have done better with a really expensive SLR digital camera, but….
Anyway, I hung around as long as I could in the afternoon before I had to drive back to San Jose. Hope you enjoy the shot as much as I enjoyed the scene.
The cold was bitter. . .
Choking cold…
Strangling cold…
Assaulted by the cold…
Cracking, scratchy, cold…
Crossing the cast iron lawn he held his frosted mitten to his face covering his nose half expecting to find that it had already fallen off.
Saturday Night and I . . .
… am still not in the groove. Is it eavesdropping when you listen to the TV in another room where another member of the household is watching? I guess not. In any case I ‘caught a whiff’ of Mozart’s ‘Requiem’. Such a beautiful piece and even now, when I am bone tired from this cold, I want to lean into the music, to lean into it it and climb the measures into the ether where all great music seems to go.
The table, the evidence of reality, is clutered. An empty Tylenol bottle is paired with the pepper shaker. A half empty bottle of water, my empty tea cup, and a can of Pledge are sentinels keep guard over the growing list of undone chores. Mozart is calling. It is a Mary or Martha moment. Will I surrender to the mundane or embrace the ascending score?
I don’t know. I am too tired for either, I suppose. Good night.
Coo-l
So here’s the deal. I don’t feel creative. I am not thinking creatively. I am just pressing keys in hopes that my muse will club me on the head as I ramble along. To my right, against the wall in her cage, is Bell our Diamond Dove. When my beloved brought her home I thought, “Great, one of the most annoying sounding birds on the planet after Finches, Cockatiels ,and Parrots.”
“Not so fast”, says Belle, “I am not a Mourning Dove, thank you very much.” Of course she didn’t ‘say’ this to me but when I heard her song I knew something was different. She has, to be frank, an amazingly pleasant song. It’s a simple little ditty consisting of bird sounds stretched out into a coo but not that maudling, whinny, complaint that never stops that I associated with all doves. Nope, not Belle. She and her breed are classy musicians and I am the better for it.
So…. on this afternoon when I am feeling anything but creative I defer to Belle to fill the void of this dark, dreary, damp, November day with her coo-l sounds.
What I know
Not much. I was interested that when my grandson, aka my buddy, asked a clerk if it were possible for someone to open the mouth of a mounted moose head she replied, negatively, and then added, “I can tell he is going to be a scientist.”
Later I heard someone refer to a particular science as the purveyor of questions and answers.
Whence did theology become the pervue of the ‘already asked and answered question?”
On a whim... 