KITE IN FLIGHT

Sunday, January 6, 2013.  What random act of man and nature created this scene of  a bird of prey against a winter sky, flying high over the mountains?  Walking, walking, walking, I turn my head to the earth, not skyward, and I pass this image by, but I returned to it.  What a perfect reflection of what I did see that day, as red-tailed hawks soared over the park on a hunt or maybe just a territory review.  Would some Department of Transportation road painter be pleased that this was the result of her work?  This pebbly bubble of white, rough-edged for the mountains and textured snowy white for the sky, might not be what she had in mind.



Sunday, December 22, 2012.  I was getting ready to leave on a holiday trip.  Glass, twinkling in the early morning light, caught the sunlight and sparkled in the early cold.  I love the tiny shapes that shattered auto windows make, the green blue of the pieces strewn on the ground.  I would like a box of them that I could take out to look at whenever I wanted to.

RUSTED

Saturday, December 15, 2012.  A familiar sign, known across the country, is transformed by weather and oxidation.  The sign has become something else, a softened version of its former self.  The solid bar in the middle looks like it might be soft to the touch, as if the admonition regarding your proposed action might not be so absolute.  Do you now dare to do what has been forbidden?

I STAND ALONE

Sunday, December 2, 2012.  A spot of color in a somber background, this leaf hangs on, refusing to drop from its perch, braving wind, rain and passersby.  The edges have burned to a crisp brown, but the red is still rich and ripe with the potential to reflect the sun, if it peeks out.  I like the tenacity of any living thing that goes its own way.

Beaded Beauties

December 8, 2012.  A morning walk in Central Park and the fog is thick in the air, the moisture collecting and dripping on branches and fruit.  It glistens in the wan sunlight, which is struggling to break through the mist.  The birds have left these little grapes to collect the drops of water and shine in the morning light. 

THE SPIRITUAL GAVE BIRTH

Saturday, November 17, 2012.  A lost letter, a discourse gone astray, a page turned and torn, gone away from the writer, or the receiver.  I was between engagements, done with one, going to another and there was this correspondence, someone's ponderings on the spritual and the natural.  The natural seems to have the upper hand, eventually returning the idea to the spiritual.

THE MISTS OF NOVEMBER

Monday, November 12, 2012.  There is so much mystery in the mist.  What is coming?  Is it hopeful, dangerous, prowling or wonderful?  I can imagine I am in many places, least of all where I really am.  I can see the distant shapes of something, I can see the far expanse of nothing.  And yet I will walk on into it, expectant and eager as to what lies ahead.