Home
This is home, and I am absolutely in love with it.
Jukebox
On a recent trip to Cleveland to visit friends, we took refuge from the cold at the neighboring bar. Sipping hot cider in the corner, I watched the wary approach of strangers to the jukebox. Face alight, their eyes scanned along with the clunk of the turning pages. Sometimes a smile or a nod or a furrowed brow, a subconscious flicker of past memories.
Vapor
And we’ll laugh. We’ll celebrate the mist on our faces as the sun beat down and the heat rose up from the pavement, awake in the shelter that surrounds us. And those moments, they will be our infinity.
Giving thanks
A mellow Thanksgiving spent in the quiet foothills of rural Maryland, never leaving the house except to collect more firewood and stare at the crisp open skies.
Clockwork
Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all! … his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes.
Charles Dickens
In Which a Praying Mantis Eats a Butterfly
The great thing about going home to the farm is that I’m suddenly confronted with the very obvious fact that I am no longer in the city. Such was the case on a recent visit, when I noticed a butterfly taking shelter from the rain on a nearby bush. Thinking I could save it from the pounding drops of H2O, I wandered over toward the curiously still monarch.
With my nose roughly 5 inches away, squinting to discern why this butterfly seemed so disjointed, I jumped back, fast coming to terms with the fact that I just rudely interrupted a praying mantis’ lunch.
After gathering my man nerves, the next logical step was to grab my camera. After several shots, the Mantis grew agitated, apparently because I was hovering just out of reach while she ate her grub (*rimshot*). She proceeded to stare me down for several minutes, unwavering in her ninja-like gaze.
Eventually, though, she returned to her meal, the highlight of which included slurping down an antennae spaghetti-style. And yes, it was as gross as it sounds.