Day 365 – The Last One and a Big Huzzah

It Bustles

Day 365

Finis by Dorothy Parker

Now it’s over, and now it’s done;
Why does everything look the same?
Just as bright, the unheeding sun, —
Can’t it see that the parting came?
People hurry and work and swear,
Laugh and grumble and die and wed,
Ponder what they will eat and wear, —
Don’t they know that our love is dead?

Just as busy, the crowded street;
Cars and wagons go rolling on,
Children chuckle, and lovers meet, —
Don’t they know that our love is gone?
No one pauses to pay a tear;
None walks slow, for the love that’s through, —
I might mention, my recent dear,
I’ve reverted to normal, too.

•••
At long last, it is finished.  I finished where I started as planned from the very first shot.  And I am stunned at how the quality of my shooting has improved.  I never realized I had so much to learn.
And a good riddance to this 365…

First shot and final shot. What a difference a year makes….

Day 348 – Thursday, Not so Late

Thursday, Not so Late

Day 348

Thursday by Edna St. Vincent Millay

AND if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday­
So much is true.

And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,­ yes ­but what
Is that to me?

•••
My boss was standing next to me as I shot this photo, and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why in the world I was shooting it this way.
“It’s all about the bokeh, baby!”

Day 313 – A Tree Grows in Sturgis

A Tree Grows in Sturgis

Day 313

I am the heat of your hearth, the shade screening you from the sun;
I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table;
I am the handle of your hoe,
the door of your homestead;
the wood of your cradle,
and the shell of your coffin.
I am the gift of God and
the friend of man.
— Author Unknown

•••

I made myself do it.  Yes, one photo today and believe me, it was a struggle.  At least I didn’t have to leave me front yard to get this.

I must apologize to everyone I follow and to those of you who are leaving me such kind comments and feedback – I really have not been at 100% for some time now from one thing or another, and the back log of needed responses continues to pile up.  I really do look at everything that comes to my inbox, by the minute it seems – I just have not either had the time or the energy depending upon the week to acknowledge anything coming through.  I did make a small dent in the pile tonight, but got so tired that poor Kathryn was not given the attention that she, honest to God, deserves. So, here I sit once more with a pushy cat on my lap who is demanding my laptop keyboard, and I am ready to fall asleep.

I will leave this on a quote:  “After all… tomorrow is another day. “

 

Day 285 – They Roll Them Up at Dusk

They Roll Them Up at Dusk

Day 285

U.S.A. (from Three Night Poems) by George Garret

Say, they roll up the sidewalks all over town
by 11:30 p.m. Lord, by midnight there’s nothing
moving, doing. Lone streetlights glare,
one-eyed, but do not dare to dance.
Here and there late lamps burn pale
fire to keep back the beasts of the night.
Somebody’s sick, you think (like Huck),
or, less innocent, project the lewd
fantastic, the cheap old beams
and images from broken movies
into frail naked rooms. Alas
for the cop on the corner who offers
a glass-eyed stare, and for the last car
weaving the pavement like a lonesome drunk.
Dancer, giants, heroes and dreamers,
where are you now? It’s a fact–
when a heart breaks it doesn’t make a sound.

•••

10:30 p.m. and not a soul on the streets except for me with my camera.  30 second exposure and not a single car to leave light trails in the frame.  Just the wind blowing, howling overhead, the sound of a trash can clattering on an adjacent street and dried up leaves chasing each other down the darkened sidewalk.

Is it any wonder that I love this small town so?

Day 226 – Cup a Joe

Cup a Joe

Day 226

21st Century Rodin -Mark L. Lucker

The upper right-hand
corner of my desk blotter;
a fresh, stark canvas
this morning, now a sepia
montage of concentric
accomplishments.
I sip,
I Think.
I sip,
I think.
I sip…
I think.
Sip.
Think.
Sip.
Think.
Sip
Big sip
sip sip sip
sip sip sippppp.
Ahhhhhhh.
Final sip, cup down.
A caffeine-laced
still life of a Slinky.
Boy-oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-man
was-I-ever productive
today!

Another day late.  Maybe I didn’t have enough coffee yesterday.  Or maybe not enough ambition.  Still no photo taken at 5:30 pm and walking out of the library.  I was first in line at the traffic light.  My coffee shop sits at the corner.  The light is long.  The light outside was just right.  My camera was beside me.  So I shot the coffee shop.  And it felt good….

Day 224 – Its Season Has Passed

Its Season Has Passed

Day 224

Winter Scenes by Karen Stephens

I have

               seen Winter; its cold, grey mornings,

Its frozen mist-drops clinging to yielding tree branches,

Its glass-like tears sparkling in the short noon sun,

I have seen Winter.

I have

               heard Winter; its fast-moving wind noises,

Its sharp voice piercing the solemn quietness of the day,

Its crunch where the crusty snow gives way,

I have heard Winter.

I have

               touched Winter; its frosty whispers on my face,

Its white, wet iciness in my boots,

Its fresh, clean air, breathed in deep draughts,

I have touched Winter.

I have

               known Winter; in its most violent tempers,

Through its placid dreamings,

In its soothing vastness,

I have known Winter.

 I am de-Christmased.  The ornaments are tissued and boxed.  The lights are rolled and bagged.  The tree branches are sorted, bundled and packed away.  My home has a certain strangeness to it now that the clutter and bright lights of Christmas are gone.  It looks naked.  I like the nakedness of the house now, though it could certainly use a bit more stripping.  Now the bleak cold of January can take over.  And that means that Spring is inching ever closer!

(today’s poem is brought to you by my lovely friend, Karen Stephens)

January Will Have its Way...

Day 196 – Big Night in a Small Town

Big Night in a Small Town

Day 196

The Boy Who Laughed At Santa Claus by Ogden Nash

In Baltimore there lived a boy.
He wasn’t anybody’s joy.
Although his name was Jabez Dawes,
His character was full of flaws.In school he never led his classes,
He hid old ladies’ reading glasses,
His mouth was open when he chewed,
And elbows to the table glued.
He stole the milk of hungry kittens,
And walked through doors marked NO ADMITTANCE.
He said he acted thus because
There wasn’t any Santa Claus.

Another trick that tickled Jabez
Was crying ‘Boo’ at little babies.
He brushed his teeth, they said in town,
Sideways instead of up and down.
Yet people pardoned every sin,
And viewed his antics with a grin,
Till they were told by Jabez Dawes,
‘There isn’t any Santa Claus!’

Deploring how he did behave,
His parents swiftly sought their grave.
They hurried through the portals pearly,
And Jabez left the funeral early.

Like whooping cough, from child to child,
He sped to spread the rumor wild:
‘Sure as my name is Jabez Dawes
There isn’t any Santa Claus!’
Slunk like a weasel of a marten
Through nursery and kindergarten,
Whispering low to every tot,
‘There isn’t any, no there’s not!’

The children wept all Christmas eve
And Jabez chortled up his sleeve.
No infant dared hang up his stocking
For fear of Jabez’ ribald mocking.

He sprawled on his untidy bed,
Fresh malice dancing in his head,
When presently with scalp-a-tingling,
Jabez heard a distant jingling;
He heard the crunch of sleigh and hoof
Crisply alighting on the roof.
What good to rise and bar the door?
A shower of soot was on the floor.

What was beheld by Jabez Dawes?
The fireplace full of Santa Claus!
Then Jabez fell upon his knees
With cries of ‘Don’t,’ and ‘Pretty Please.’
He howled, ‘I don’t know where you read it,
But anyhow, I never said it!’
‘Jabez’ replied the angry saint,
‘It isn’t I, it’s you that ain’t.
Although there is a Santa Claus,
There isn’t any Jabez Dawes!’

Said Jabez then with impudent vim,
‘Oh, yes there is, and I am him!
Your magic don’t scare me, it doesn’t’
And suddenly he found he wasn’t!
From grimy feet to grimy locks,
Jabez became a Jack-in-the-box,
An ugly toy with springs unsprung,
Forever sticking out his tongue.

The neighbors heard his mournful squeal;
They searched for him, but not with zeal.
No trace was found of Jabez Dawes,
Which led to thunderous applause,
And people drank a loving cup
And went and hung their stockings up.

All you who sneer at Santa Claus,
Beware the fate of Jabez Dawes,
The saucy boy who mocked the saint.
Donner and Blitzen licked off his paint.

This isn’t the photo that I had planned for the night, however my Michael had a small concert (surprise, Mom!) at Free Church Park here in town tonight to welcome Santa to his little home away from home.  The middle school band played a few songs, the high school choir sang a carol or two and Santa’s helper read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas.  Lots and lots of rugrats running around nipping ankles and otherwise behaving like the children that they are – they straightened up the moment Santa came out and told the powers that be to turn on the Christmas lights.  All in all, cold, damp, noisy and satisfying because my baby boy was part of it.

Christmas Lights - Radial Blur and Twirled

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.