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the
sky
was
can dy lu
minous
edible
spry
pinks shy
lemons
greens coo l choc
olate
s.
un der,
a lo
co
mo
tive s pout
ing
vi
o
lets
–e.e. cummings, Songs, I
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Wherelings, whenlings
(daughters of if-but, offspring of hope-fear, sons of unless and children of almost),
never shall guess the dimensions of him
whose each foot likes the here of this earth
whose both eyes love this now of the sky.
endlings of isn’t shall never begin
to begin to imagine how
Him whose each foot likes the here of this earth
Him whose both eyes love this now of the sky.
(only are shall be were
Dawn dark rain snow rainbow
and a moon ‘ s whisper in sunset
Thrushes toward dusk among whippoorwills
or
tree field rock hollyhock forest brook
Chickadee
Mountain. Mountain)
Why-coloured worlds of because
Do not stand against yes
Which is built by forever and sunsmell.
(sometimes a wonder of wild roses sometimes)
with north
over
the barn.
e.e. cummings
20/50
Travel Pillows. Please discuss.
(If you need more prompting, I’m wanting to know about your experiences with the horseshoe squishy type of travel pillow that you see in airports. You stick them around your neck for something…presumably to sleep. Have you used one? Is that what they’re for? Are they at all helpful or a waste of money? Is there a particular you swear by? Discuss.)
The fish in the creek said nothing. Fish never do. Few people know what fish think about injustice, or anything else.
–Ursula K. Le Guin
“And can all the flowers talk?”
~Alice, Through the Looking Glass
“The sun shines not on us but in us. The rivers flow not past, but through us. Thrilling, tingling, vibrating every fiber and cell of the substance of our bodies, making them glide and sing. The trees wave and the flowers bloom in our bodies as well as our souls, and every bird song, wind song, and tremendous storm song of the rocks in the heart of the mountains is our song, our very own, and sings our love.”
–John Muir
Two weeks away from home seems like a really long time, especially in August when almost everyday marks a celebration of a loved one’s birthday or anniversary. Then there’s the garden where the roses and clematis are just starting to re-bloom. The cucumbers are ripening on the vine and becoming ready for pickling. In August there are lush, ripe vegetables calling out everyday to be picked and eaten. It’s so hard to step away from the beautiful sight of what you spend so much time nurturing and from what nourishes you.
On the other hand, two weeks is not nearly enough time away when you look up from the roses and sense the frenzy of fall chaos rapidly spinning towards you. Is there a way to put the brakes on the flow time?
Yes. Yes, there is. I have found the answer to the problem of time and I’m here now to share that wisdom with the world.
Here’s how to make time slow down to a crawl: schedule yourself a 12-hour bus ride. Make it an overnight ride leaving at 8:30 p.m. and arriving at the destination at 8:30 a.m.
So that’s the answer. You’re welcome. I’ll now give the play-by-play of the experience in case you need to live it vicariously. I can’t imagine why you would, but hey, it’s your life.
I had no idea how lucky I was the first 4 hours off the trip with all my leg room in the spacious aisle seat and with my silent, sleeping neighbors. Time nearly came to a complete standstill when I found myself on the layover at our first bus stop. To my left a small child bawled in his unsympathetic mother’s lap and to my right an adult woman bawled into her cell phone. Sandwiched in between this much human tragedy I began to question my own life decisions, as one does, at 1:08 a.m. in a Nashville bus station. The stereo sounds of misery abruptly ended a few moments later when a grown man wearing a Burger King crown walked by and belched; it was a sight and sound unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. The burp itself had a sustained reverb that went on for way longer than anything like that ever should and the deep bass notes echoed against the station’s cavern-like walls, floor, and ceiling. It was so startling that everyone put their suffering on hold to take a moment of stunned silence. To some degree, the King’s burp was a relief felt by all.
The next leg of the trip I had a window seat and my new found friend, Tall Tom the Talker, had the aisle. When he wasn’t talking or asking questions, he was asleep and taking up all of his seat and 2/3 of mine. At least he smelled nice. Before this bus ride I had actually bragged to someone about my ability to sleep anywhere. Those words alternately haunted and entertained me as I sat squashed up against the bus wall shivering from the cold. I wiled away the hours staring at the candy wrappers and trash that bygone passengers had crammed into the metal grate below the tinted windows.
At 5:40 a.m. I found myself in Knoxville, where there was less crying and more mullets. One man’s mullet defied the “business in the front, party in the back” rule. His mullet’s party crashed rebelliously through the front door of his business. It featured two braided pigtails styled to cascade forward over his shoulders and down his chest nearly to his waist. He completed his ensemble with a red t-shirt, cut-off blue jean shorts, rainbow socks, and red tennis shoes.
The time warp continued as I stood in line waiting to board the third bus past the time we were supposed to be departing. On the last leg of the magic bus ride I watched the sun rise over the mountains of North Carolina. Twelve hours is all that elapsed on that bus ride and there was a time change somewhere along the way so the trip was only 11 hours, technically. But I was awake and present in those 12 hours (yes, 12) and I’m here to tell you eternity was in the felt experience.
Thinker on a Rock, Sculpture Garden in D.C.
Somewhere in the bowels of D.C.
South Main, Memphis, TN
An Invasion at the Squirrel Nut Zippers Concert
Love itself describes its own perfect. Be speechless and listen.
–Rumi
One cat just leads to another.
–Ernest Hemingway
