unicorns

There was a period during the late 1970s, early 80s, when unicorns showed up. A unicorn song could be heard on the radio in the mornings when driving to work. There were plush toy unicorns and little plastic toy unicorns. Artists seem to enjoy them as subjects - surrounded by skies of rich dark lavenders and greens, misty mountains. Some unicorns had wings; some wore long colorful ribbons entwined in their manes. A moon was glowing in the background, making the air around the unicorn sparkle. Novels and fantasy books included unicorns in their stories. The cover of such a book might have a castle in the background, set on a lush hill. All that was missing in that idyllic world was the unicorn itself. Was there ever a unicorn?

it's the odd things
that bring you to mind
cranky angel.
your voice comes through
in a children's book -
'Grrr!'
and 'Watch Out!!!'

when i need to carry a big stick
now and again
i pretend
and raise it tall
just like you do...
Wham!
just in case.

you sing and ramble on
about this and that
(could u please help me
edit this poem? i ask.)
you say 'No!'
and live life
(a glass of imaginary wine perhaps?)
'Yes!'

turtle's journey

I don't know where the turtle came from. A young woman rushed up carrying the turtle and placed it on someone's dry trim lawn near the sidewalk where I was walking. She ran back to her car which was humming on the far side of the street, traffic whizzing by. Looked like a rescue. The turtle was there not far from my feet, his head and limbs tucked into his shell.

From my view of things, there was the weight of the turtle, his shell not quite a foot in diameter. There was the fact the turtle might not find his way home that didn't involve crossing a street. I didn't know where the closest creek bed wild spot was. I'm a little afraid of big turtles.

From the turtle, there was this weighty patience and trust. He didn't budge until I'd walked maybe half a mile, and he started swinging his head out and scratching with his legs: 'You're going the wrong way.' By then, I was on the edge of a golf course. A low lying central Texas creek perhaps was nestled below. I sat the struggling turtle down on the dryish green, and he looked this way and that. His head was large, his neck powerful, like that of a snapping turtle, but he wore a splash of red, somewhat like the mark on a red strider's face.  His dusty green shell was neither flat nor helmet-like, but somewhere in between.  His eyes were very small and coated or scarred or perhaps membraned. He rotated one way, then the other, paused as though in thought, then set out toward where we had come, hastening back toward the hot afternoon streets. I lifted him up and hurried instead toward the creek, away from the streets, hoping he wouldn't scratch, hoping a golf ball wouldn't land on my head or his shell.

Part of the creek looked more like a ditch, but then I noted a flat, lovely bed of limestone, a thin ribbon of water running, the shade and protection offered by trees. A grackle, shiny and black, walked in and out of the shallow fan of water. I set the turtle down on the stone bed; when his legs reached out, he'd feel water without being submerged. Soon after I stepped aside, his webbed hands, feet and head came out of the shell again. Again he paused.  He hastened to the water, half swimming, half walking. The grackle seemed to be keeping an eye on him, drawing closer as though to watch his progress. They hobnobbed as he passed. The direction the creek was going curved toward the area we'd just left behind, running under the street, hopefully safely toward where the turtle was trying to return.

As the turtle left me and the noisy street and cars behind, heading down the shaded strand of wild creekbed, I felt a rush of release and relief and wonder as the unexpected sharing of paths with a turtle came to a close.

solitary supper

for supper around 4:30 PM yesterday, i fixed a bowl of strawberries, canteloupe, and avocado. The avocado was slightly past ideal, mushy and slippery, and i ate it first. So then there were lovely strawberries and canteloupe. I got the ice cream from the freezer - peanut butter cup ice cream - and put it on top of the fruit and ate. Then I had some pimento cheese spread and crackers, and finished a diet cola. The life of a solitary nomad. 

I didn't choose this life, but it does have occasional perks. 

For some reason, a greater percentage of the adult and teen-aged population in the United States lives alone now than during past centuries. This is 2015, but I read this trend was evident in the last census. There are a lot of us hermit crabs around, in odd solitary confinement.

I've been reading a book of essays and poetry called Transcend. It's a collaboration of the works of some residents and staff of a public housing apartment complex. The apartments have been set aside for those who need some care, those fragile from age, injury, illness, or circumstance. I have not finished the book yet but an image comes to mind: a shoe. There are at least a couple of writerly contributions about favorite shoes. The simplest, without emotion or much elaboration, is a very short poem about a pair of pink and red shoes.

The happiest tribe of deer I ever saw were in Central Texas around the year 2000, near the compost pile tossing their heads, eating chilled cantaloupe rinds on a hot summer afternoon.

Come November, they also ate with great gusto the remains of pumpkin jack-o-lanterns.

painting and light

Light in painting is created by using white paints, and/or colors paled with white paint. The paint can be applied near or on or beneath the apple or the child's face or the violin or the open book. An artist reproduces with intention sunlight, or moonlight, or candlelight, or electric light and such.

In the experience of painting I've noticed that occasionally, light picks its own home; light gathers somewhat cheerfully in blank spots of background.  There is contrast between the paint and paper that is predictable. And sometimes in the breaks of a brush stroke, or in the patch of emptiness between two painted areas, a powdery paleness will glimmer, and take on a spirited life.