I know a place where the feral hemlock grows,
and I know many people who should eat some.
I was taught how to cook, but is it worth it,
the trouble if by chance I get to meet them?
When I climbed out of the van today in beautiful downtown Moscow, ID, a raven flew over. When I walked back to the van, I found a corvid feather to add to the collection on the windowsill.
The move to my new workspace is done. The van becomes a nice tool for the treasure hunting, portable living situation, and flea market sales in my fantasy future life, but it can rest for a bit. It went through four starters during the three months of move. That is on top of the first failure. Apparently, the solenoid sits too close to the manifold and gets hot. It is a design flaw.
There is a starter button on the dash now, and all sorts of shiny copper wire around the battery. Turn the key, punch the button and it fires right up. I still have to crawl under the rig and see if the wires go anywhere near the old/new starter. My understanding of electricity is minimal at best. I sure am no systems analyst, but it seems that the electrical specialists finally got around to the system was broken so they changed the system ploy.
Step to the edge of what people contrive,
no matter how pretty,
no matter how wise,
the wind will sweep
to the edge of the skies.
The storyboard is safely ensconced in my new digs. Storyboards can be a useful tools; they can also be a convenient way to waste time when you are not actually writing. Back in the days when I was working in solid waste to pay the rent and eat, I found the pieces for my storyboard. It is a fun toy now.
We were cleaning tons of paper out of the psychology department when I came across a box containing a story telling kit from the late 1940s. I promised myself that when I found a magnetic white board it would become a story creating device with lots of glued on magnets. The board finally came. It is 4 by 9 feet and weighs a ton (figuratively). I have to get a moving crew in to move the thing.
Just before I moved it, I put these figures on it as an example of a simple story. They are back on it now with lines and arrows and question marks. The story is beginning to unfold in one form or another.
One of the pieces has disappeared during the move. It was the figure of a naked little boy with his back turned. He seemed to be hiding his penis from view. I hope he turns up. I imagine psychiatry from the 1940s would have a lot to say about my noticing this.
“You can observe a lot just by watching.” Yogi Berra
The black wings shimmer as they pull up stream. The stream’s course in a channel of deep bunch grass and green willow shadows and lights, a thousand shades, an infinite shade of verdant and dark weaves. The bird is untouched by the flora. The raven winds a course between them all. It does not cry; it does not lie. It flies at the will of its own.
I dropped a hanging ball of prism crystal a little lower in the window. I used to be able to sit at certain hours and watch the rainbows dance about the room. I haven’t seen the rainbows for years. I’m afraid that the Grand Old Party is trying to blot out rainbows. I suspect they have already slaughtered the unicorns.
Shel Silverstein wrote a book of poetry named “Where the Sidewalk Ends”. It is a lot of fun stepping off the end of the sidewalk into the real world, but until you get there, there are some things to see along the way.