| Author |
 Topic  |
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
 Posted - 03/18/2006 : 19:48:35
|
Coming back through the bike trails yesterday, we stumble upon each other, the first copperhead of the season. It recoiled in fear as I passed by, neither one of us wanting a closer encounter. Spring is here...
Craig |
 |
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/19/2006 : 20:33:17
|
| The APL Panama is anchored in open seas off the coast of Baja Mexico. Refloated at 4:40am March 10th by Edinburgh salvage master, David Stirling. The 835 foot-long container ship ran aground Christmas day inside Ensenada's harbor. Close enough to walk out and touch at low tide. The Panama's estimated worth is 50 million American dollars. Her cargo, twice that much. The salvage costs may run to 10 million. The vessel was salvaged under the time-honored "no cure-no pay" rule. Now Mr. Stirling goes home to Scotland where, "I have nothing to do with the sea." |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/19/2006 : 20:46:36
|
| ...further south down the Baja peninsula, curious, 35-ton California Gray whales are breaching and dancing and mating close to the pangas at Guerrero Negro. The whales were almost extinct in early 1900. Now 25 thousand make the yearly 10 thousand mile round- trip. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/20/2006 : 21:55:03
|
| Drowsey Two Nose sleeps on the porch some nights. An arrangement he has with Ezekial. Zeke. Before Chloe arrived. Last night, Drowsey made it back to the yard. Well... Half in the yard and half in the gravel drive. He was down to Tinka's workin' on the Sierra when the Brock boys pulled in. About noon. They're Saturday faithfuls at the Casino. Drowsey's busted. Tapped-out. Broke. Alimony and child-support. But he's got those jugs of liquid light turnin' up all over the reservation. Chole doesn't allow them in. She's gone back to partin' her hair down the middle. Wearin' it in a braid. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/21/2006 : 21:29:46
|
| She sits by him. At the fire. Beside the warmth they both lean towards. For hours. For years. Their shoulders melting in the dark. |
|
|
|
Doug L
Firefly
Canada
5446 Posts |
Posted - 03/21/2006 : 22:50:15
|
Even Faust begged the moment to stay.
Verweile doch, Du bist so schon.
Linger a while, for you are so beautiful.
visit http://www.myspace.com/dukelang |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/23/2006 : 21:50:03
|
| The Museum at Hidden Candle Cove is closed. Where she practices cartography. Apprenticed to the magician when Durrow was cold. 600 AD. Dim stars only he could see. An Ocean. History. His gaze so grave and strange. Her smile so brazen. Through centuries. The dust of the past. Holding them in thrall. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/25/2006 : 19:17:53
|
| We are squatters at the gates of Paradise tonight. Bowing our heads and folding our hands. Waiting for our cold souls warm renewal. Prayers for all who are in harms way or hurting. Father, please bless us all. |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 03/25/2006 : 20:24:11
|
Bless us all...
Craig |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/27/2006 : 18:35:07
|
| A sea story. Where they wander in mortal forgetfulness. Through trees. Conflagrant green between Puerto Vallarta and Manzanillo's azure coves. A bluff-top above Careyes. Tile roof. Sun-dried adobe. Wrap-around wrought iron fence. Stone shrine in the courtyard corner. Neptune and Poseidon conspiring again. He sits with his chin in the palm of his hand. His faceted insight spread before him. His compass and sextant close to hand. His scrolled maps rolled out on the table. "Here," he says, tapping his finger when she glances over his shoulder. He points to X in the candlelit room. The house wraps itself around them. One more night. One more day. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/28/2006 : 19:25:46
|
| She walks the bike through the sandy wash. Over tracks through eucalyptus and confetti pepper trees. Pushes the heavy door open. Hurries across the scarred, hardwood floor where he's waiting by the fireside in a puddle of rain. Steam rising around him in halos. Outside, the gauze sky begins to unspool. A star falls. Some broken shards of moon. His destiny. His quiet wreath of reverie. "Don't fix it," he says, "it's broken the right way." |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 03/30/2006 : 19:11:43
|
Journal entry, March 31st, 1906.
Somewhere in the Central Valley:
"O, fragrant, lovely morning. The wash is on the line and the children, full of oatmeal. Even a few raisins, too. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/02/2006 : 20:04:39
|
| They arrive at the edge of the world. "We'll stop here," he says, "for now." |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 04/03/2006 : 19:44:38
|
Honeysuckle in the air, Addicks deer feasting...
Good ride today, alone.
craig |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/04/2006 : 01:26:43
|
| The way is rutted and there is no road. Just the bonnet-tops of the wagons before us. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2006 : 20:47:29
|
| A fleeting thought caught in the corner of his eye. A faded signpost. Paved Road Ends. He remembers. Tells her the fog-bound story. Complimentary First Aid Kit. Elmer's Glue. Kindergarten glitter. |
|
|
|
Craig
Firefly
Kyrgyzstan
3793 Posts |
Posted - 04/05/2006 : 21:12:31
|
When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse,
Out of the corner of my eye.
I turned to look but it was gone.
I cannot put my finger on it now.
The child is grown, the dream is gone.
I have become comfortably numb...
~Pink Floyd - "Comfortably Numb"
The Wall
It has been this way for three solid weeks. It has been sliced, disected and analyzed...again. I know better. It should be appreciated "as is". Nothing else listened to except "Looks Like Rain"
Craig |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/06/2006 : 20:16:26
|
The bigger the window,
the more it trembles.
~Ted Kooser~
Nebraska, USA |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2006 : 19:26:36
|
| We cross the Border early. Tijuana is busy. Our friends aren't prepared for the onslaught of children begging at 7am. Here, Death is a celebration. The children sell Chiclets and suck anise candy skulls all day. Fierce faces made with black and white sugar. Mischief in their eyes. Black rings around their sweet bud mouths. |
|
|
|
Ailinn
Windchimer
2174 Posts |
Posted - 04/08/2006 : 19:31:18
|
| Centuries old, they forget time and what rhymes with it. He pulls the sun from his pocket. Holds it above star-crossed trees. Orange groves at the edge of an ocean. Slim eucalyptus leaves. He guards the days blank pages faithfully. Under the accordion-pleated sky she lights candles. Sets the table. Places the fruit in a small wooden bowl. Hastily unpacks her trousseau. |
|
|
|
Topic |
|
|
The Nightly Vigil