tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6667679415560443082012-01-28T17:25:11.448-08:00Fleeting observations, very short stories, brief histories, and amazing tales of derring-do.Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.comBlogger16391100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-1202070170860352092012-01-24T09:39:00.000-08:002012-01-24T09:40:42.952-08:00

"For a moment everything was clear, and when that happens you see that the world is barely there at all. Don’t we all secretly know this? It’s a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels and cogs, a dreamclock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life."- Stephen King, "11/22/63"

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-29706567261136452582012-01-13T10:09:00.000-08:002012-01-13T10:51:38.947-08:00

Astronomers have peered through a telescope 13 billion light-years into the past and spied a cluster of five galaxies in the earliest stages of cosmic infancy.A Danish marine biologist has identified a new life form, Mesodinium chamaeleon, that is half plant, half animal.A study published in the journal Science finds that pigeons -- and probably all birds -- are on a par with monkeys and apes

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-29952769632634625232012-01-10T10:06:00.000-08:002012-01-10T19:37:44.997-08:00

One of my daily rambles with the dog takes me past an old horse stable on the edge of Redwood Regional Park. Some of the horses drowse outside in small paddocks, but most are kept indoors in stalls: small, dark boxes with tiny rectangular windows that let in only a single shaft of dusty sunlight. I hurry past the barn, since it pains me to see horses confined this way. Herd animals are made to

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-12546619303043347832011-12-31T11:43:00.001-08:002011-12-31T15:22:49.273-08:00

On Thursday, a young gray wolf wearing a radio collar crossed the border from Oregon into Northern California. He is the first wild wolf to set paw on California soil in 80 years. Long may he howl!

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-71160619781934654302011-12-30T16:36:00.000-08:002011-12-30T20:51:04.947-08:00

Fabulous, speedy, punctual trains that take you everywhere you want to go. The look of clay tiled rooftops against winter skies.The guardian demons in front of the Ninnaji temple in Kyoto. There is an "Ah" guardian and a "Un" guardian; each is one half of a perfect breath. This is Ah.The elaborate meals I ate at Buddhist temples. Called shojin-ryori, the ingredients are seasonal and entirely

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-46743833767526410622011-12-22T19:17:00.001-08:002011-12-22T22:40:44.607-08:00

I wouldn't say that Arrow the dog and Puck the cat are friends, exactly, but they do have a lot in common.Both are singleminded in their pursuit of smells. There can be only one objective: Is this edible?Both spend a lot of time pondering the troubling matter of the mole in the meadow. Methodologies differ.While dedicated carnivores, both eat copious amounts of greenery. Much in evidence: Grass

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-59377483810469516562011-12-18T16:32:00.000-08:002011-12-18T21:40:48.318-08:00

A winter's afternoon. Through the kitchen window I see a flock of golden-crowned sparrows darting about in the black sage. Strange to think that a handful of days ago I was thousands of miles away in Japan. On the return trip I slept on the plane as it crossed sunken continents and leagues of darkened ocean. To fly is to enter an altered state, a sort of intermission between lives. The oddest

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-13152281755860004642011-12-04T10:35:00.000-08:002011-12-04T10:35:20.404-08:00

Going to Japan! I'll be back in mid-December, with tales to tell.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-38874312152936279212011-12-01T17:30:00.000-08:002011-12-01T17:30:23.532-08:00

Last night I dreamed of a field of yellow flowers I used to play in when I was a child. I walked into the field, and as the fragrance and the color of the flowers filled my senses I felt intensely happy, and at the same time, intensely sad.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-20329653482409561522011-11-29T21:54:00.000-08:002011-11-30T11:09:26.477-08:00

Kurt Vonnegut once said, "Life is no way to treat an animal, not even a mouse."I thought of that last night as I lay in bed listening to the high, thin shriek of some animal -- perhaps a mouse -- being eaten by some other animal.Our house is at the end of a dead-end, smack in the middle of a small island of wilderness surrounded by other homes and streets. We share this urban greenbelt with a

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-41887274938211865552011-11-29T10:38:00.000-08:002011-11-29T19:14:35.471-08:00

The chickadees are here!

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-73104605319404750082011-11-23T16:27:00.000-08:002011-11-23T16:29:48.449-08:00

Mules. The more the better.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-46276699958068075682011-11-23T10:01:00.000-08:002011-11-23T16:01:05.564-08:00

I fell in love with this painting a few years ago when I saw it at the Oakland Museum. It's called "Autumn Journey," by the California painter Ralph Borge, who died in 2008. An elderly woman, wearing her best cloth coat and her Sunday hat, sits alone in a rowboat, becalmed on the surface of a reflective sky. The autumn leaves have begun to fall; a few have drifted into the boat. Lost in thought,

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-91671832180388877882011-11-22T09:09:00.000-08:002011-11-30T11:33:13.916-08:00

One summer a long time ago, I worked at a salmon cannery in southeastern Alaska. My job was to stand at a section of conveyer belt called the patch table, holding a large pair of scissors and grabbing can after can off the conveyer belt to trim the bits of bone and salmon flesh that jutted over the lip of the can. Grab and trim, grab and trim, 14 hours a day, seven days a week until the salmon

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-4374004672441959432011-11-21T10:42:00.000-08:002011-11-21T10:42:24.335-08:00

Seahorse whisperer.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-86172288301722362362011-11-14T09:51:00.000-08:002011-11-14T10:11:37.941-08:00

This fellow has become a regular in the neighborhood. I admire his craggy good looks and stoic outlook on life. I'm always impressed with how levelheaded he is, considering he could fall apart at any minute.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-70667792784978642002011-11-11T09:08:00.000-08:002011-11-11T09:19:19.402-08:00

Western black rhinoceros, last seen in Cameroon in 2000. Declared officially extinct November 2011.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-32418095523265246702011-10-31T16:45:00.000-07:002011-11-01T10:56:31.508-07:00

Even in California, where the seasons are subtle, we have reds and golds and russets enough to turn your head. The dog and I were walking along a forested path, drinking in early autumn, when I heard the flapping of great wings above me. In that split-second of wondering -- sounds too big for a raven, could it be an eagle? There are no eagles here -- a tree limb smashed down onto the ground a

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-48707251991236666672011-10-27T15:50:00.000-07:002011-10-27T16:06:18.279-07:00

My first home in New York City was a rambling seven-room apartment belonging to two professors who had gone to England on sabbatical. This couple’s home was the dirtiest place I had ever seen. They were historians, and the history of the past thirty years--the meals they had eaten, the wine they had drunk, their troubles and their joys--could be divined in the dust and the crumbs, in the cobwebs

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-65848289613894634662011-10-27T10:54:00.000-07:002011-10-27T11:03:17.150-07:00

"There is something in the space between what I know and what I am and what fills this space is what I know there are no words for."-Don Delillo, Ratner's Star

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-20862126627036871142011-09-27T15:31:00.000-07:002011-09-27T22:28:58.599-07:00

After too many ugly episodes of crowd violence, one of Turkey's soccer teams banned men from the spectator stands. At a recent match, over forty-thousand women and children -- not a single man among them -- packed the stands. Mothers dressed babies in the team colors. Women chanted the team's anthems. Instead of hurling insults, the spectators cheered the players. The visiting team got a round of

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-35777533270729100742011-09-20T10:03:00.000-07:002011-09-21T10:12:31.842-07:00

Puck and his sidekick.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-66808166915266083692011-09-17T18:25:00.000-07:002011-09-17T18:36:56.546-07:00

"Respect the delicate ecology of your delusions," the appropriately named Mr. Lies tells Harper in Tony Kushner's masterpiece, Angels In America. Mr. Lies is a hallucination that Harper has while she's roaming the Antarctica of her imagination. We all have our private little delusions, irrational half-beliefs we keep hidden for fear people will think we are nuts. For instance: even though my

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-9693106613566142562011-09-08T14:53:00.001-07:002011-09-08T15:00:42.304-07:00

"The secret to happiness is being able to let go of your cows." - Thich Nhat Hanh

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-23991051872076250322011-09-07T22:41:00.000-07:002011-09-08T09:37:20.074-07:00

I remember when I moved to New York City 22 years ago. I lived there for nearly two years. The entire time, I kept waiting for someone on the street or the subway to point a finger at me and announce, "Hey, you! You're no New Yorker. You're from California!"

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-13000837697923680812011-09-02T18:56:00.000-07:002011-09-02T21:26:22.807-07:00

When I was growing up, one of my favorite books was the novel, Green Mansions: A Romance of the Tropical Forest. The story takes place in turn-of-the-century Venezuela, and it's narrated by a young adventurer named Abel. Abel journeys deep into the jungle where, in a twist of fate, he meets the mysterious Rima. Actually, she rescues him from a poisonous snake. Abel, who is a proper Venezuelan

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-49451317633282448092011-08-25T09:47:00.000-07:002011-08-25T09:47:47.266-07:00

"My future starts when I wake up every morning." -Miles Davis

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-52121395807084142552011-08-11T11:17:00.000-07:002011-08-11T11:18:54.952-07:00

"First I put in emotion and expression. Then I cover it up. Then I put in silence." ~ Moshe Kupferman, painter and Holocaust survivor (1926-2003)

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-80733186047645049732011-08-11T10:52:00.000-07:002011-08-15T10:39:21.700-07:00

One entire day, being nobody, going nowhere. (Photo by Rodney Smith)

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-80422004581746365172011-08-02T19:29:00.000-07:002011-08-07T18:26:04.729-07:00

I hope I look this good when I'm 500 million years old.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-89202194476846116082011-08-02T11:40:00.000-07:002011-08-02T13:55:50.111-07:00

Making a cup of coffee, lingering by the open window, something in the midsummer morning light reminds of someone I loved a long time ago, and suddenly it dawns on me: The past was a day just like today.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-59601987823133327872011-07-25T19:01:00.000-07:002011-07-25T19:01:52.261-07:00

"My advice to any young person who wants to write is: Leave home."--Paul Theroux

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-34776018123030186472011-07-25T18:37:00.000-07:002011-07-28T13:01:43.186-07:00

I don't collect things. I don't save much. I've always traveled light. Still, there are certain things I have trouble throwing away. The phone numbers of long-departed friends. A tin of extra buttons. Things I find on the ground: marbles, feathers, seashells. A tiny, perfect pinecone. A picture cut from a magazine of a Buddhist monk petting a stray dog. The keys for lost locks. The wing of a

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-88159424149232025082011-07-08T20:54:00.000-07:002011-07-08T21:06:54.964-07:00

Rambling through the woods today I began to imagine I was seeing an entirely new color spectrum: green and brown seemed to dissolve into the dappled shadows; blue and violet flickered in the haze, red and orange shimmered with fire as the sun climbed higher in the afternoon sky. I closed my eyes. When I opened them I was surrounded by las libélulas, the dragonflies, and through the prism of their

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-22326982398566738382011-07-01T20:10:00.000-07:002011-07-01T20:10:56.155-07:00

"Action is the sole medium of expression for ethics." --Jane Addams

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-89193013723156497192011-06-28T10:11:00.000-07:002011-06-28T10:15:46.522-07:00

Twice a day she buckles the old horse's halter on and leads him to a nearby meadow to graze on the lush grass. He's 29 years old; she's had him since he was a colt of two. His coat, once dapple gray, is now pure white. His liver is failing. He will not be on this earth another week. One day I go with her to meet the horse. He greets me politely, with a touch of his nose. We stand quietly,

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-83684361480692026442011-06-27T12:25:00.000-07:002011-06-27T12:26:17.155-07:00

He always offers me the wishbone, he always tries to give me the bigger half, and I always wish for the same thing.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-6072109088652804282011-06-27T12:21:00.000-07:002011-06-27T12:23:44.272-07:00

Photosynthesis, the most beautiful word in the English language.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-55093425759457078682011-06-24T21:51:00.000-07:002011-06-24T22:09:08.798-07:00

We are sitting on the couch listening to a radio special about Joni Mitchell. We are transfixed. "Does this music make you feel emotional?" I ask, because as the first stanza of "Clouds" comes on I begin to feel powerfully emotional. He just nods slowly, gazing off into the middle distance. He doesn't have to say anything. He knows the words to almost every song Joni Mitchell ever wrote. In

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-38554319581477533412011-06-20T19:11:00.000-07:002011-06-20T19:15:12.670-07:00

The year I was eighteen, I worked in Yosemite National Park. On my days off, I would sometimes hitchhike up Highway 120 to a little meadow I'd discovered on a trip to Tuolumne. I never saw another person in that meadow; it was an oasis of perfect peace and solitude. I would stretch out on the grass and read for hours. I read Mark Twain, Emerson, George Eliot, I read Joan Didion and James Thurber.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-5201196138686475702011-06-19T17:15:00.000-07:002011-06-19T17:18:54.654-07:00

A long time ago I dated a man whose ex-girlfriend used to leave messages on his car. Once she etched the word ABANDONED in the dust on the hood. He wiped it off with a paper towel. Another morning there was something tucked under the windshield wiper. I thought it was a note, but as I got closer I saw that it was hair: a skein of long brown hair, coiled into a ball. "What does it mean?" I asked.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-56353702086843787682011-06-18T21:26:00.000-07:002011-06-19T09:34:13.139-07:00

I remember visiting Italy fifteen years ago, stepping through the doors of the hotel, looking up at the huge yellow moon hanging over the city and marveling, That's a Roman moon.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-15164862691837255142011-05-26T20:25:00.000-07:002011-05-27T13:28:51.900-07:00

I was hurrying down Van Ness, on my way to the Civic Center BART station. I was taking care of two orphaned kittens and I was anxious to get home and feed them. Cutting down a side street, I noticed a man sitting at a table at a sidewalk cafe. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a nylon windbreaker, strange attire for a chilly San Francisco afternoon. However, what struck me most about the man

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-56813076148034412892011-03-21T18:06:00.000-07:002011-03-22T16:15:05.600-07:00

March is more than a month, it's a determined forward progression. Spring has taken a mighty leap: The rain is falling, the hyacinth are blooming. Everything marches forward, even time. But not me. I am a poor marcher, preoccupied with plot twists, shapeshifting, laws of planetary motion. I lose time. I linger and hesitate. I'm up to my ears in aerocats. So I'm taking a few weeks off. Look for

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-15972749240733320442011-03-15T11:39:00.000-07:002011-03-15T11:41:30.849-07:00

"Animals are not citizens of countries. They are citizens of our hearts, and our hearts have no borders." - Gwen Cooper

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-90795673256244757702011-03-09T09:19:00.000-08:002011-03-09T09:19:43.389-08:00

I'd like one clear blue sky, please.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-54558082390471201932011-03-07T09:19:00.000-08:002011-03-07T09:21:05.449-08:00

Two towhees are building a nest in the clematis vine again. Last year a pair of California towhees made their nest in this same spot, and lost their eggs to a marauding raccoon. I heard the cries in the night, a scuffle, and then silence. The next morning the nest was gone, tumbled from the vine's protecting tendrils, and the towhees were gone, too. If I was fluent in towhee I would post a

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-41130714092852275372011-02-14T18:04:00.000-08:002011-02-14T18:07:47.878-08:00

Science has discovered that when horse and human are in sync, the horse's heart rate will mirror that of the human's.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-2230319640014522562011-02-03T16:56:00.000-08:002011-02-03T17:01:03.800-08:00

The skies are full of windmail today. I don't know how I'm going to find time to answer it all.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-50098841331050817942011-02-01T10:14:00.000-08:002011-02-01T11:11:30.809-08:00

Trees are patient. Most of them know that a week of warm weather in January means nothing in the scheme of things. They slumber on, dreaming their distant dreams of spring. But not the plum tree. The plum is impetuous. Drunk on sunlight, intoxicated by the unseasonable heat, she sends sap up through her trunk out to the ends of all her bare, winter-chilled limbs. And so it is that the buds begin

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-35784205656538655992011-01-31T18:05:00.000-08:002011-01-31T19:45:05.780-08:00

I dream I have a part in a theatrical production of Pride and Prejudice. When the curtain goes up on on opening night, I confidently stride onto the stage and simultaneously realize three things: 1) I have missed every rehearsal; 2) I don't know any of my lines; and 3) I am playing one of the five Bennet sisters, but...which one?

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-76095764974511055042011-01-25T18:07:00.000-08:002011-01-25T19:58:44.592-08:00

1) Silken windhound is the name of a new American breed of dog.2) Bedouins can read the future in the shifting contours of a sand dune.3) You can fend off a charging turkey by opening your umbrella.4) People in movies are more likely to be carrying a gun than a book.5) A skunk will hold its ground in the face of an oncoming vehicle.6) Paleotempestology is the study of ancient storms.7) Every

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-53622006749211534852011-01-21T19:31:00.000-08:002011-01-21T21:08:08.763-08:00

This remarkable 3-foot-tall blossom appeared in the backyard last spring, crowning the top of a tall, spindly succulent that formerly passed its days quietly in a corner, giving no clue it was capable of producing such a flower. I'm hoping it will happen again, but I'm not counting on it. If you can create a work of art this magnificent even once in a lifetime, your job is done.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-7690795298257032372011-01-21T17:44:00.000-08:002011-01-21T18:12:25.353-08:00

When I was a little girl my mother went to Mexico and brought me back a plaster donkey. The donkey had a garland of painted plaster flowers around his neck and a slot in his back for coins. I was convinced the plaster donkey had a soul, so I was heartbroken when he was accidentally smashed. I buried the shards under the willow tree in the backyard, and prayed that the plaster donkey would come

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-17318974783756349502011-01-06T13:35:00.000-08:002011-01-06T13:39:25.849-08:00

Year after year, the stone Buddha sits on his stump halfway up the hillside. He watches the raccoons and the skunks, the opossum with half a tail, the family of black-tailed deer, the finches and the chickadees, the towhees and the jays, the lizards and spiders, cats and humans. Some live and some die, some eat and others are eaten. Through it all, the Buddha is impartial. A shower of eucalyptus

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-36915508176895415872011-01-05T17:58:00.000-08:002011-01-05T21:25:33.774-08:00

When my neighbor Inma was a child growing up in the Basque region of Spain, she used to go to her grandfather's farm and play in the fields with her cousins. Her favorite memory is of her grandfather's jersey cows: The cows, gentle and inquisitive, would settle down on the grass and rest their great heads in the little girls' laps, and the girls would twine daisy chains around their horns.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-51235544894158501152011-01-04T20:15:00.000-08:002011-01-04T22:54:35.909-08:00

I knew a girl in high school who used to tell people that she was Marilyn Monroe's illegitimate daughter. The funny thing is, this girl was no beauty. She was all elbows and knees. She had stringy hair and pimples. She sat alone at lunchtime with her sad carton of milk. But she had a prescient awareness of the tragedy of her own life, and that made her powerful. She would gaze at the boys

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-74969513456076165492010-12-31T14:50:00.000-08:002010-12-31T14:56:52.766-08:00

I met Charlie Lubutsky on a June morning in the mid-1980s, drinking coffee on the steps of Café Pergolesi. I was with my friend Cindy, an aspiring actress. She was in character that day, pretending to be the daughter of an earl who disowned her when she fell in love with a penniless gondolier. That was why she said to Charlie Lubutsky, a total stranger, “Giuseppe, my love, we must remain in

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-23428951610704872052010-12-30T19:01:00.000-08:002010-12-30T19:17:28.260-08:00

I once knew a man who couldn't forgive his mother because when he was a boy she had always cooked only one artichoke for three people to share. "There was never enough heart to go around," he would say, with a sigh.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-6321204983433540912010-12-30T14:26:00.000-08:002010-12-30T14:27:50.400-08:00

Golden-crowned sparrows scratching for seed under the black sage, whistling oh-dear-me, I'm so cheery.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-32043701235061464322010-12-28T22:01:00.000-08:002010-12-28T23:09:15.709-08:00

For years I had this recurring nightmare: It's the middle of the night and I'm asleep in bed. I open my eyes and see the silhouette of a strange man standing at my bedside. He does not speak or move, only stands mute and menacing, staring at me. I had this same dream for several years and found it so frightening that I always awoke with a gasp or a scream. Then one day I read something that Rilke

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-21972290029543431272010-12-28T19:23:00.000-08:002010-12-28T19:23:35.047-08:00

There will be a lot more galloping.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-47266228697472596642010-12-26T22:31:00.000-08:002010-12-27T10:57:23.968-08:00

In April 2006, when Michael and I were visiting Costa Rica, the environment minister became lost in the jungles of Corcovado. It was in all the Costa Rican newspapers, and having been in the forests of Corcovado ourselves, we followed the story avidly.Carlos Manuel Rodríguez was on a ranger patrol when he disappeared. Search parties on foot and in helicopters scoured the park looking for him.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-10820844986364728932010-12-21T09:09:00.000-08:002010-12-21T14:52:02.014-08:00

Four years ago, on the winter solstice, Aerophant took wing.For the blog's insignia I borrowed this image of the aerophants, which I had clipped out of Harper's magazine nearly a decade earlier. When I saw the picture, I had that gasp of cosmic recognition you get when you unexpectedly see yourself in someone else's face: Why, that's me. They are me.The photograph—and here is where things get

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-19599714857235348412010-12-17T11:01:00.000-08:002010-12-17T11:49:32.282-08:00

On a gray midwinter's day, Puck remembers how the sun feels on his face.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-68084803687169148412010-12-16T09:19:00.000-08:002010-12-16T09:40:58.301-08:00

"I will never know if animals and plants have spirits, if the tree I stand beside is aware of my presence, but I am absolutely certain it is wise and responsible to behave as if these things were true."—Richard Nelson, 'Heart and Blood: Living With Deer In America'

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-21914256895061281432010-12-14T19:05:00.000-08:002010-12-14T21:44:36.910-08:00

Love always leaves a trace of itself behind. A few smoldering coals, a curl of smoke, a flicker of warmth; not a conflagration, just a small fire burning deep in your heart.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-24787962869194689222010-12-14T14:21:00.000-08:002010-12-14T16:40:17.657-08:00

It's important to remember that, as Simone Weil reminded us, the future is made of the same fragile fabric as the present.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-89689055062961586712010-12-14T09:32:00.001-08:002010-12-14T10:03:49.286-08:00

The hillside is blanketed in morning mist, drained of color like a black and white photograph. Then, out of the trees comes a volley of gold-tipped arrows—the goldfinches are here.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-9215392914076452902010-12-13T19:11:00.000-08:002010-12-13T19:37:35.896-08:00

Quiet winter night, listening to the music of past lives: the F train rumbling underground on its way through Brooklyn; wind shaking the pine boughs in Yosemite; coyotes yip-yapping at the lonesome moon as it rises over Death Valley.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-79584274094145784742010-12-09T11:33:00.000-08:002010-12-09T11:42:50.137-08:00

"If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, 'Thank you,' that would suffice."~ Meister Eckhart

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-41449149858186068632010-12-03T20:26:00.000-08:002010-12-03T20:44:45.419-08:00

He had no name or his name had been lost. I called him Ben.I was at the Pettigrew science center in Griffith Park on a school field trip. The little bay horse was standing alone in a small corral, goats on one side, a bad-tempered llama on the other. I gave him a carrot from my lunch and he ate it eagerly. The next day I ditched school and brought him apples. And the next day I brought nothing,

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-48168229366711291332010-11-21T13:25:00.000-08:002010-11-21T13:27:29.066-08:00

Words I found inscribed on a bench set on a ridgetop high in the Oakland hills:Sunset, saffron, vermillionfluid creationthe time of a wish.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-38064790324963590302010-11-21T13:10:00.000-08:002010-11-21T13:10:56.956-08:00

I suddenly realized what I've been missing: Topography.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-64314490104191645852010-11-20T12:21:00.000-08:002010-11-20T12:24:41.770-08:00

I had a dream that I couldn't remember the past. Without a history I had nothing -- no friends, no home, no future. All I had was $23 and an empty flowerpot.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-24137264249433232342010-11-17T14:14:00.000-08:002010-11-17T14:18:34.505-08:00

"Looking back on the past six months, Margaret realized the chaotic nature of our daily life, and its difference from the orderly sequence that has been fabricated by historians. Actual life is full of false clues and sign-posts that lead nowhere. With infinite effort we nerve ourselves for a crisis that never comes."- E.M. Forster, from Howards End (with thanks to CKS)

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-10536105991323913982010-11-16T20:48:00.000-08:002010-11-21T13:28:55.943-08:00

My writing room has a single large window that looks out onto a coast live oak. The birds and squirrels that spend their days sheltering in the oak have grown to regard the window as an extension of the tree, just as I consider the tree an extension of the window. A chickadee perches on the windowsill, then flits back into the tree to scoop up a beetle. A gray squirrel forages for acorns, then

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-55796789913952105282010-10-29T19:15:00.000-07:002010-10-29T20:59:47.865-07:00

In the sixth grade, my best friend Vivian and I used to climb out her bedroom window and sit on the roof. From the roof we could still hear her parents fighting, but it sounded muffled and distant. We counted clouds and birds. We shared Mars Bars. We made up stories about the neighbors or the people across the street, or strangers walking down the sidewalk.On summer nights we would bring our

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-87889701763209976252010-10-29T14:01:00.000-07:002010-10-29T14:03:21.970-07:00

Patter of rain on a car roof, streetlight winking on wet pavement, memories of bossa nova.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-29980357403214962692010-10-07T12:39:00.000-07:002010-10-07T18:58:17.685-07:00

Most of us know when we're contemplating a major change in direction. But we make minor course corrections all the time without even noticing them. Sometimes these seemingly insignificant little shifts can have a profound effect on our lives. You may not be aware of it, but that spontaneous U-turn you once made in a town whose name you've long forgotten set you on a completely different path in

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-46478871563473341812010-10-01T09:55:00.000-07:002010-10-01T09:55:29.724-07:00

Sometimes Puck just doesn't want his picture taken.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-15630065824778332602010-09-30T17:29:00.000-07:002010-09-30T17:40:26.498-07:00

This time of year, the orb weavers build their webs all around our house; a new web each day. Sometimes there are three, five, ten webs strung across the front steps. (So I use the back steps.) The entire street is festooned with webs, in front and back yards, threaded between trees and fences and eaves and telephone poles.Yesterday I watched one of the orb weavers constructing her web, after a

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-84519526439064312242010-09-28T10:05:00.000-07:002010-09-28T10:07:38.953-07:00

"It is not a commonplace river, but on the contrary is in all ways remarkable."When I get stuck I think of something my father said many years ago, which was that I should try to write a book like Life on the Mississippi. He never explained exactly what he meant by this, and it is far too late to ask him, but I knew he loved Mark Twain's book, with its quantity of short chapters, its tall tales,

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-11346042350886337202010-09-28T09:43:00.000-07:002010-09-28T09:43:28.813-07:00

On the Middle Yuba River, September 28, 2009. (l-r) Traci, Tai and Susanne, with Valerie behind the camera.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-88662937376088128402010-09-21T13:07:00.000-07:002010-09-21T13:23:07.182-07:00

"Just because you got the monkey off your back doesn't mean the circus has left town."~ George Carlin

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-44179375060393364472010-09-20T09:15:00.000-07:002010-09-20T09:21:36.405-07:00

Hiking on the ridgetop in the season's first rainfall, a fine mist filtering the afternoon light into fingers of silver.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-84095490685346212312010-09-07T22:49:00.000-07:002010-09-07T22:51:44.629-07:00

"Mondrian used to make a jest about walking in the park and getting his pants stained green by the reflection of the grass." - John Baldessari

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-27807712967016104122010-09-07T19:08:00.000-07:002010-09-07T19:12:05.246-07:00

It's golden season in California. The tall grass shimmers in the heat, and the oaks are so dry their rustling leaves make music in the wind. There has been no rain for months. The native plants know how to survive the dry season, while greener exotics wither for lack of moisture. In Leona Canyon, where I sometimes hike, goldfinches feast on dried seedheads and blue dragonflies skim the last

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-64740174652115085012010-08-20T19:15:00.000-07:002011-01-21T17:52:10.889-08:00

Puck sits in his favorite clump of grass in the backyard. He is a faithful, devoted sitter, as patient as any Buddha. He sits on his nest for hours. Finally, I cannot resist peeking underneath him. I almost believe I might find something: a magical egg, a Puck egg. Or a secret tunnel. A cache of jewels. A miniature civilization. It's Puck, so anything is possible. But there is only the flattened

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-79199274474665063002010-07-28T13:25:00.000-07:002010-07-28T13:37:26.607-07:00

Aerophant salutes the Catalan Parliament for voting to abolish the barbaric practice of bullfighting. Catalonia's bullrings will close forever on Jan. 1, 2012.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-66585885843819891872010-07-27T09:52:00.000-07:002010-07-27T09:55:36.195-07:00

"I wish it had turned out differently, but it didn't."[Repeat as often as necessary until acceptance sets in.]

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-89784673881091422202010-07-25T21:50:00.000-07:002010-07-25T21:53:05.481-07:00

If we could speak with pandasthey would speak only of bambooand would possess eloquencehumans rarely achieve.-Dave Snyder

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-18394967531495605772010-07-24T17:10:00.000-07:002010-07-24T17:10:44.128-07:00

1) Get a wheelbarrow; 2) wheel it into your living room; 3) fill it up with stuff you don't want anymore; 4) wheel the stuff out of your life.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-63847031211417487722010-07-23T15:49:00.000-07:002010-07-23T18:51:19.822-07:00

Remember when you used to call your friend, and if your friend wasn't home the phone would ring and ring and ring and ring, and it would ring so long that your mind would wander and you'd go into a sort of trance, and the phone would ring and ring and ring, and finally you'd give up and hang up the phone and wait a while, although never long enough, and you'd call your friend again, but your

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-23576792752886650792010-07-22T09:54:00.000-07:002010-07-22T09:54:55.055-07:00

"I have always approached my work one bird at a time."- Jay Holcomb, director, International Bird Rescue Research Center

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-75925377115547102662010-07-21T19:40:00.000-07:002010-07-21T19:42:07.041-07:00

I'm going into the abyss.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-73498149110164149732010-07-21T11:45:00.000-07:002010-07-21T11:47:59.617-07:00

I once knew a bowlegged Australian horse trainer named Barlow who bought Thoroughbreds off the racetrack, schooled them as hunter-jumpers and sold them to rich equestrians in Carmel Valley. One day Barlow invited me and my friend T to ride a few of his new horses who were fresh from the track. On our way up into the hills we took a shortcut through the old Carmel Valley airport.When we trotted

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-81280561754004266662010-07-21T11:14:00.000-07:002010-07-21T11:43:08.427-07:00

The house I grew up in had a pomegranate tree in the backyard. Late in summer we'd pluck pomegranates and eat the translucent seeds until our fingers and clothes were stained with red juice. I assumed there was a pomegranate tree in every backyard and I remember being surprised when I discovered this was not the case.

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-5067861204348709492010-07-21T11:11:00.000-07:002011-01-06T13:50:13.595-08:00

Last summer around this time I was in Seattle, walking on the bluff overlooking Elliot Bay. It was a warm evening, the sun was at a low angle, and I could smell the creosote from the docks below. All of a sudden the memory of another Northwestern waterway came rushing back to me: I was walking along Tongass Narrows on the way to work at the cannery in Ketchikan when a bald eagle soaring on a wind

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-666767941556044308.post-85794942885714578302010-07-08T19:21:00.000-07:002010-07-08T19:21:33.734-07:00

"If you asked me what we did wrong I would say we were much too nice."— Gloria Steinem

Taihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11703993512737384114noreply@blogger.com4