My grandfather used to warn me, “What goes around, comes around.” I would hear him when I was being particularly stubborn or mouthy. Of course, that meant I heard it often. The word “karma” has pretty much replaced my grandfather’s admonition.
Sound the clatter of dead bones.
A soft wind whispers through them,
Like a spirit’s breath.
Branches wave to an Uncaring sky and
Leaves cling on in desperation.
The birds that are left and haven’t left,
Don’t sing— chirp, occasionally, wearily.
Leaves on the path whisper, “Shhh.”
To my noisy tread.
For a while now, I have been hanging around people who write. A year ago, I would have called them writers.
People who wrote church bulletins (there will be a rummage sale in the church basement) were writers.
So were people who wrote menus (today’s special is chicken parmesan and your choice of spaghetti or penne). Continue reading People Who Write
She has been described as bossy, loud-mouthed, crabby, violent, aggressive, tempermental, and unathletic.
Somewhat like a bully in demeanor, she easily doled out verbal insults in which she labelled people as dumb and weak and frequently shouted, “Oh, you blockhead.” Continue reading Trump, Free Lucy!
As I shuffle along in my golden years, sometimes I trip on things, over which, I once sprung, gazelle-like. A leading culprit is the simple garden hose. Stretch it across a driveway and I will stumble over it. Let it lay on the sidewalk and I will, assuredly, find it with my foot and commit ambulatory transgression.
Like so many things, this happened just the other day. I was walking on a heavily traveled sidewalk. Across the walk was a hose connecting an office building to a food truck. I digress, but I thought you would want to know that the food truck sold, among other things, deep fried oreos. Continue reading Deep-fried, hose-tripping science
A man, sitting, perfectly alone, in a hooded gray sweatshirt on the side of a short
hill, looks over a shallow valley with the pencil line of a creek meandering the length of it. An even grayer sky reflects in the small beaver-built pond that, briefly, interrupts the feeble stream.
Grayer figures splash airborne from the water. Three geese lift off. Then two. Then one. Then two and two more. Slowly wheeling counterclockwise, the geese accelerate and climb while connecting with each other. The, nearly, black silhouettes etch the slate sky, complete the circle, fall into formation, and start, resolutely, southward. Still rising, they flash to the man’s right and out of sight. Ten geese headed south.
Not 60 seconds later, a lone goose comes in fast over the Gray Shirt’s left shoulder, sees the water, starts his glide and notes that no one is home on the pond. His air brakes engage as he aborts his landing. About that time, the ten return. Zooming right over the man’s head, a long fast flapping descent by the ten engage them with Lone Goose about 30 feet above the water.
Lone Goose flaps furiously, while the ten ease up, slightly, on the throttle, and the formation closes, executing a tight turn, and zipping by the man once more. Eleven geese headed south.
Gray Shirt’s shoulders slump just a little. He bows his head. Where are his rescuers?
Adam meant “man.” That’s pretty accurate.
The beautiful Esther was “star.”
David, the man after God’s own heart, checked in as “beloved.”
Other times, like with Absalom, “my father is peace,” considering he led a revolt against his father, David, the name wasn’t always on target.
She was owned by another human and her name wasn’t Sojourner Truth but she legally changed her name to that and, more importantly, lived the name, travelling widely and speaking the truth on the abolition of slavery and women’s rights.
She said things like, “Religion without humanity is very poor human stuff.” Continue reading Sojourner Truth