Small World
This Kenyan, Who lives in the US, Is camping in Australia, On a Ukrainian’s property, Eating Chinese food, Prepared by an Irishman.
travel
Why Normal Women Shop at Nordstrom’s
In the US, I call it junking. The Aussies call it up-shopping. I like that term. Other references include thrifting, second-handing, and up-cycling among others. This is a highly skilled operation that few appreciate and even fewer master. I can’t tell you how many times I get a compliment on an item I’m wearing, then …
My Brother, The Red-Indian
My father was larger than life. I was a shrimp of a kid and he, a stately 6’2″. Everything about him was gargantuan: his body, his booming voice, his gigantic spirit… He made his presence known before he was seen. He inspired deep seated anxiety without saying a word. In his presence I averted my …
Together Forever – Thwarted
I. Today the Rancher separated the 3 calves from the mothers to wean them. They are across a fence from each other. The mothers moo forlornly for their young who are frolicking carefree in the next field. Even while they chew, the heart-sick mother’s moo. It’ll be a long week hearing their pathetic bellowing. II. …
I’ve Had it!
I’m watching myself run away. Down the dusty dirt road I go. Stomping with vexed resolve, I’ll never come back, oh, no! That’s the last time they dismiss me… I don’t have to put up with this… They’ll miss and appreciate me now… I left with nary a kiss. I overstuffed my favorite …
Splattered on my Windshield
Giant windmills by the Columbia Slowly doing the breaststroke, Over rolling buff hills that are sunning Past town after town and its townsfolk. Truck trailers, travel trailers, Zipping past chugging railers. Dams and rest stops, hot springs and buttes, Punctuate stories of curses and Aslan Tumnus, and horses and wardrobes of fur Grip us, spellbound, unfolding The Plan. Truck trailers, …
Dive Bomber (Reblogged)
I love hummingbirds. All facts about them astound me. I once sat stunned under a feeder as one buzzed the top of my head repeatedly. My wincing face portrayed my certainty that the pointed beak at the end of those deafening wing-beats was going to bore holes in my irises! There is one hummingbird I …