I have seen the squirrel again. Twice, in fact. Each time around eleven in the morning and on the same block of the same street. I see her dash across the street with the acorn in her mouth and in three different yards, bury the acorn. She does it whole heartedly with quick efficient strokes. I guess there’s not much doubt in an animal’s mind. They are either doing it or not doing it.
Sometimes there’s a lot to say and sometimes there isn’t.
Tonight there isn’t
These two people are reacting to the same news.
It’s like that sometimes. Sometimes it’s W. T. F. wtf? and sometimes
i’m going crazy beacuse of this andsome days it’s all caffeine, banana bread and corn chips
somedays it’s just hard to stay in Balance.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Somedays it isn’t.
Love, Dana
I met a squirrel yesterday. And I sort of followed her as we were walking the same way. I waited while she buried the acorn. At first tentatively and then busily in a perfectly manicured lawn. Not golf course but close. Afterwards the squirrel turned around, rose on its hind legs and looked at me. Hey, I can keep a secret.
Just trying to get my head around this.
Then I’ll try to write it down.
Who knows what he does when he’s not being
being the teacher?
It’s an unknown; a projection at most, at worst: that.
Unknowning mind might be the most powerful mind.
Quiet, receptive and possibly able to leave these boundaries we’ve all so unconsciously and conveniently agreed upon.
Siting in Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, like a glass half full, he saw, through the wall.
I stopped to look at a rose bush today. It had tightly wound new buds waiting to open It had partially open flowers. it had perfect fully blown roses, wilting roses, dried petals, shriveled leaves. It had all phases of rose on it at the same time. In a way it defined and defied time. All at once. And so pretty.
My mother liked dark chocolate and mint, my Aunt Martha also. Even though they didn’t like each other, they both liked dark choclate with bright white mint inside. Inside those slim little paper sleeves, with the black and gold or shiny emerald green. Should be a few lying stylishly on the silver tray in Grandmother’s dining room. I hope the elevator works. Always feel a bit like a caged bird in there, singing as I go higher until it comes to a clangy metal, abrupt stop and I have to fight the cranky gate.
Cherry Vanilla was another favorite of my mother’s. For ice cream. Does that still exist? What about peppermint ice cream, the pink kind. Is it amidst the rocky road and the cookie dough?
Who knew they were going to change the names of what I considered centuries old, unchanging colors? Who knew you were going to be able to buy a watercolor set without Alizarin Crimson? My grandchildren will probably not paint with Cerulean or Ultramarine Blue. They’ll be called something else.
Old World Blue and Medium Blue Straight Up, or something..
betweenstops 