The Chestnut Rabbit Hole
CL, your story of chestnut soap sent me down the Google rabbit hole.
First, I searched Whidbey Island. What a gorgeous place! I’d warmly welcome photo essays of your beautiful location if you are so inclined.
Second, I searched for more information on chestnuts. I know…
If the leaves of autumn
sang to me, the tune would be
On The Road Again,
‘cause leaves don’t hold tight to yesterdays,
don’t cry for what’s behind,
don’t worry about the living and dying or
the coming and leaving,
doing what comes naturally.
It was a buffet, long and luscious,
sometimes coarse and tainted,
as many choices as boxes in the cereal aisle,
as many options as my Samsung phone,
a never-ending queue of coulds, shoulds,
maybes, nevers, sometimes, and always.
Sections beckoning for health and wealth,
parts dedicated to decadence and licentiousness…
It all started innocently — over four months I watched nature’s makeover — petite lemony ducklings, mother hovering, protecting her brood of twelve — to Gothic black teenagers, independence flowering, no mother in sight — to YAs, still gathering, safety in numbers — masculine feathers transformed to cathedral windows —…
Sunday was our first cold morning — 56 to be exact. Definitely sweater/jacket weather for this Floridian!
Syau took me for a long walk in a different direction. She tends to repeat the same routes with me and other routes with Captain Argentina. I was thrilled when she looked down…
Orange is my favorite color. Green and blue are number two and number three. All colors of nature.
I was curious about how often my favorite color appears in my photos, so I searched “orange” in Google Photos. The results continued for pages. …
An office of 13 isn’t an antiseptic bubble — trusting each other means trusting everyone they trust — like having sex with one is having sex with everyone they’ve banged since puberty— I don’t trust you much less your partners and associates and acquaintances or where you went or what…
I imagined a life beautiful,
dream-chased it through waking hours,
trying to knit it into being with
images, words, and hope.
Like a spent sparkler
that dream life fizzled to dark,
causing me ill,
leaving me weeping.
My present was my future,
nothing would change,
I was stuck…
Out of thin air and
into the shadow of
Is the capture figurative
or does the card hold
to share with whom
Like a paper angel
I color and crop, do you
When I chop your
I held tight
it was all I knew,
without the guilt
who would I be?
Catholic to the core,
motherless child wrapped
in blame and consternation,
my identity twisted
by events I didn’t cause
but thought I did,
hints and suggestions
absorbed as authentic
50 years cemented —