Tabor Light

 

Blossoms past

 

I shall migrate another day

On the evening bike ride down Pounds Hammock, I stirred up a Monarch that I did not expect to see this late. I thought they had migrated by now. The corridor along the high tension power lines is an area full of flowers I have missed all the times I have ridden the road. I just never thought to turn into the power sub station.  I will have to return.
Today was one of those days I would have loved to have migrated as well.

Cocoa

Cocoa came with a high price. Allison got him on line from a person down south Florida way. Drove down to pick up the fluffy Persian. He was more human in his demeanor than cat, one of the few cats I liked. He had the distinction of getting the blame for either eating or swatting off the counter, the SD card of the photo shoot I had done for Allison, Carson and Pearce. We never found the SD card, assuming it went down the garbage disposal.
Cocoa lived most of his life inside at Allisons, but of late, since the arrival of Carson, was living at my sisters house. He loved to be outdoors, slipping out. It came to the point of just letting him stay outside. My sister had him cut short so he would not be so matted up.
Today upon leaving my house, my sister found him dead in the road. Today is Pearce's 7th birthday at the bowling alley. I do not know if they will wait and tell him or not.
He will take it seriously as he is a sensitive fellow and fears death and things in the dark.

Cocoa

I cannot tell you why
the coolest cats have to die
but they do
and so we cry
for Cocoa died
in the road on
Pearce's birthday
today.
We shall bury him
and sing
happy birthday
and bowl a
few frames
but sad our hearts
will remain
for the loss
of a cool cat
is a very sad
thing.

Paths we make

We stay the trails
we know so well
daily we tread
the well-worn paths
to places of our
making
never straying
beyond the rut
familiar in the
going
mindlessly never
knowing
that just beside
the trail
the expanse of
field and forest
shade
meet
never seen
for the way
they say
is in the sun
and the rut
can be so
wearisome.

the other canoe

the canoe I should have kept...ordered this little ten foot canoe from a company in New York, I think it was called Apple canoes...it was extremely light, made of Kevlar...and extra tippy...but..I could easily carry it to and from the car to the water...I sold it to a lady who lived on the Suwannee named Eleanor...who worked at JCPenney with me...Eleanor passed away soon after I sold it to her and I often wondered what came of it.  I had no business selling it to Eleanor for she really was not capable of managing such a tipsy canoe.

Eleanor Penney
picks up the boat
from the bloke where
a journey did end
Lives in a dream
Waits at the shore
wearing the life jacket
that she keeps on a wall
by the shed
Who is it for?
All the paddling people
where do we all paddle some?
All the paddling people
where do we all belong?
Father forgive them
writing these words
of a poem that no one will hear
No one blogs here
Look at him working
folding the shirts
In the night when there's
nobody there
Quietly he despairs
All the messy shoppers
Where do they all come from
All the messy shoppers
Can't I just paddle some
Ah look at all the lovely ripples
Ah look at all the lovely ripples
Eleanor Penney, died by the Suwannee
and was buried along with her canoe
Nobody knew
Father forgive them
wiping the water
from the paddle as he walks
from the shore
poor Eleanor
All the messy shoppers
(ah, look at all the messy shoppers)
Why don't they understand?
All the messy shoppers
(ah, look at all the messy shoppers)
Where did
Eleanor's canoe
land?

Caught in a time

the going through old negatives continues...every now and then coming upon some that pique the memory...taking me back to the time...the camping ones seem to pique the most...as I miss the camping...the complex simplicity of it all...
the old white Trooper I still miss...

Guardians

The yard around the pond becomes inhabited with creatures again...rising from the ground, sterile in the fallout from contrails, unearthly creatures, of PVC and tin...a new world to begin...heaven help us...call Steve to bless us...

In a circle they drew

One of the rewards of wading through negative upon negative and photographing them into the computer. I came upon a series of circle church shots that I had forgotten when the water level in the pond was high enough to have a good reflection.
Fortunately, as I am apt to do, I took about a dozen of the same scene. I have been doing the difficult task today to trying to choose then photographs to replace the ones at the gallery now. I want to include this church as it has been the only print to sell.
That has been the challenge, just what interests people?
I counted up the photographs to paintings and other works in the gallery yesterday and there is about a 50/50 split between photographs and other. So, in other words, too much photography.
I will continue to hopefully dabble in the painting, getting to a point of becoming adept enough to submit paintings instead of photographs.

 

Canoeist