Day 232 – Empty House

Empty House

Day 231

BIRD HOUSE by Edward Byrne
Fingers stiffening in frigid cold, I plane
odd planks of knotted pine, creating

some tapered shapes from loose pieces
of rough lumber, scraps I had plucked

from under that spare junk pile I knew
I would find behind my father’s shed.

After hand cutting a few short boards
into a floor and steeply pitched roof,

plus four fitted side walls, I sand them,
going over the finer lines of grain again

and again, rounding off all uneven edges.
Before long the wood looks as smooth

as new sand dunes, sudden mounds
scooped out of the summer shoreline

and lifted by ocean gusts, or those
white winter drifts so often found

only one month from spring still
running the length of level fence posts

around a wind-blown meadow filled
with snow, now powdering evergreen

pine needles, driven along the ground
around the wet-black trunks of oaks,

their branches yet bare and the upper
limbs temporarily empty of birdsong.

•••••

It looks as though Winter is coming for the third time this season.  After an unseasonable warm week with tulips being fooled into thinking it is Spring, we have a winter storm watch tomorrow afternoon and…..   More snow!   I am just hoping that the little birdies aren’t fooled into coming home too soon!

Day 209 – Chains Like the Sea

Chains Like the Sea

Day 209

Fern Hill by Dylan Thomas

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.

And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

Yeah, I am again behind.  In fact, there is a day missing that is going to have to be rolled over to the end of this project.  Crabby behavior is not conducive to good photography!  And yesterday, there was just no time to get anything posted before it got too late, so I decided to just put up two today, with a nice gap between postings.
Later, gators!

Day 166 – Why Didn’t I See it Before?

Why Didn't I See it Before?

Day 166

Flight Of Stairs by A. S. J. Tessimond

Stairs fly as straight as hawks;
Or else in spirals, curve out of curve, pausing
At a ledge to poise their wings before relaunching.
Stairs sway at the height of their flight
Like a melody in Tristan;
Or swoop to the ground with glad spread of their feathers
Before they close them.They curiously investigate
The shells of buildings,
A hollow core,
Shell in a shell.

Useless to produce their path to infinity
Or turn it to a moral symbol,
For their flight is ambiguous, upwards or downwards as you please;
Their fountain is frozen,
Their concertina is silent.

Day 142 – On Call

On Call

Day 142 –

The Night-Fire by Claude McKay

No engines shrieking rescue storm the night,
And hose and hydrant cannot here avail;
The flames laugh high and fling their challenging light,
And clouds turn gray and black from silver-pale.
The fire leaps out and licks the ancient walls,
And the big building bends and twists and groans.
A bar drops from its place; a rafter falls
Burning the flowers. The wind in frenzy moans.
The watchers gaze, held wondering by the fire,
The dwellers cry their sorrow to the crowd,
The flames beyond themselves rise higher, higher,
To lose their glory in the frowning cloud,
Yielding at length the last reluctant breath.
And where life lay asleep broods darkly death.

Day 130 – Take Five

Take Five

Dreams in the Dusk by Carl Sandburg

Dreams in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day
And with the day’s close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,
Only the old remembered pictures
Of lost days when the day’s loss
Wrote in tears the heart’s loss.

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.

Day 96

It is Day 96 and I don’t think I will ever get a photo in on the correct day!

Good day today at the library – Ric Roc was our guest today for a great program for the kids as well as a few adults.  We had the program at the Sturges-Young Auditorium and it was a crowded us.  You know, there is almost nothing as pure as the sound of children laughing…

And what is left here are a few more photos I took from my little corner conveniently put into a slide show.

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Day 78

Day 78  was a fairly rough day.  It started out well enough and went into a valley at right around noon when the popcorn machine that we borrowed from my mother died at the library.  Then it proceeded to dip further when Bob called and told me that his transmission, yes, the transmission that had us all twisted for 5 months, decided to take a poop as well.  I was “in. a. mood.” for the rest of my work day and ended up leaving at 4:oo pm to go to find out what I could about Bob’s car.  A new transmission is being ordered and should be here this coming week and Bob will be driving a loaner.  The popcorn machine is on hiatus until I buy Mom a new one (grrrrrrrr!)

But there is always the upside hill to every valley.  When I got home, Bob, Michael and I all went to dinner and Fiesta Mexicana for the first time and I had the most fabulous BLUE margarita ever!  I do not as a rule drink, but decided to indulge in one drink tonight.  WOW!  It sure packed a punch!  We ended up heading to the bowling alley and I actually bowled 3 games- all under 100 because I am such a power bowler.  I never ended up getting a photo tonight so I am posting one of my favorites from Wednesday night – my favorite bend in the river.  Such peace for my soul….  Just looking at this photo is balm for my battered spirits.