Thursday, August 19, 2010

August 19, 2010

It's still gray, weighing gently down so only some things stand out. This morning walking the dog I saw 23 white mushrooms. Earlier while I was sitting Ambrose called out that a cardinal had landed in the bush outside the window. A white squirrel bounced across the road. I saw a stop sign and a piece of sandpaper. Everything was still quiet. With the mushrooms and the gray sky clearly the water element is strong and all green things vibrate intensely, patches of grass electric, reaching. When I came home Ambrose called out the window. His talking toy had suddenly said something new.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

August 18, 2010

Walking with the dogs I saw the burnt-out husk of a tree struck by lightning. It is gray and the branches are naked against the sky and the ivy on houses is green in relief. One day I saw a girl with a missing leg hobbling down the street in the afternoon and later a bird with a snapped wing. Once I was looking out on a valley in the Black Hills and dead trees bleached by successive suns reached out above the canopy of green bent like the arms of old men. The word darkness is relative. For some of us the site of dead and broken things stands out and their stark surety is easily the opposite of death.