Spiders, spiders, spiders.
Ants, wasps, beetles.
Foggy morning after a very stormy night.
86: Signs of Spring (Contra Costa Goldfields)
87: Nat’l Parks (Sequoia)
Happy 85th to Thomas Pynchon!
I’m not going out today (too much to do at home) so here’s a photo from a previous Pynchon in Public Day—
—at the excellent Volstead Speakeasy in (of all places) Eagan.
Keep cool but care.
It’s been a busy week.
From July to September 2020, I posted pictures of bookmarks I’ve collected over the years. The original posts have returned to my archives, but now they are also all together on a single page here: Bookmarks
Goodbye, tiny apartment.
spine poem #9: hay(na)ku
The widening spell
of the
leaves,
my life corrupted
into song.
Pure,
unattainable earth where
now, as
ever,
testimony is music
beginning with
O…
spine poem #8
“Spring shade, spring essence.”
Song of the departed stranger.
Music, imitations, illuminations.
To be the poet even in quiet
places: Turtle Island, Flower
Wreath Hill, backroads
to far towns…
