Harley

This is Harley, a member of the Weimaraner breed, 

one of the most beautiful dogs ever.

He is sitting at the door of his family's home, 

watching the action in the neighborhood.

I always look for him when I walk past

the house because I never tire of watching

his springy stride as he follows his humans around

their yard or trots over to greet me.

His taut body covered by shiny coat

is aptly described by the phrase "gray ghost,"

words that are emphasized when he stands in

the doorway, his form contrasting sharply

with the background.

A Gray Blanket

When the day started. I looked out my window 

to see beautiful sunlit clouds passing over,

with warm temperatures to match the season. 

A bit later, an underlying blanket of gray 

came in, hiding the sun and the cumulus clouds. 

They didn't bring much rain, however, 

just a shower of fat, sloppy raindrops that made 

big bubbles in the puddles for faeries to ride in.

Now, as the evening brings cooler temperatures,

the trees are dancing a dervish with the wind,

pushing out the warmth, bringing rainfall

heavier and more insistent than earlier.

This time last year, we had been under drought 

conditions since April. For now, I will enjoy the shower

and look forward to any storm.

Mossy River

I stood and stared at this driveway for a bit 

before I took these pictures, wondering whether 

the sealant would show appropriately 

black and shiny. It didn't, so I fiddled with it 

in PhotoShop, making it purple.

Still, the whole thing reminds me of maps 

of a river and it's tributaries,

but reversed, with the green bits being the land, 

and the rest, of course, water.

Pretty Blue

A Speedway neighbor set this little bit on a small 

wooden table in their front yard.

Though plain and small, I found something

charming about the gesture

and, most of all, I just loved the blue glass.

Twining

One nice day during the Spring, 

I took a walk along the Central Canal, 

where I saw this vine, growing up along a trellis 

sheltering a bench by the walkway.

I was struck by the contrast of young and old, 

new buds and old growth,

each providing support for the other.

Here a trunk of  an old vine

resembles sisal rope, stretching and twining

from the ground, in and out of the trellis.

Does it provide a pathway for the newer vines,

to grow along the grooves in its surface,

showing them the way towards the sun?

Textured Tuesday: Green and Gray

It had rained overnight, but the only remaining 

hint was the damp outline around 

this fallen leaf. I loved the green shades against 

the striated concrete sidewalk.

Waltz with the Breezes

When I left to take a walk Saturday, 

the air was hot and muggy,

relieved by the gift of a breeze. 

As the afternoon went on, the promise 

of rain plied its way among the trees 

at the IMS RV lot on Georgetown Road. 

I could hear the trees as they danced, 

their leaves sounding like the rustle of taffeta

ball gowns moving to the sensuous twirls and dips 

of the breeze's three-quarter time.

A bit of the breeze touched my cheek, 

inviting me to join the dance.

And there, I could be seen, a middle-aged woman 

walking alone among a few acres worth of trees. 

With my baseball hat pulled low on my brow,

I looked up at the trees where, circling in place,

partnered by my unseen Muse, my laughter made 

a counter melody to the summer air.

  

Edges

I could stand beneath a tree all day, 

gazing upward at the leaves to check way the light 

is diffused as it makes its way from the sun

through the layers and shapes that overlap and

intersect each other on its way to the ground below.

Above, a tiny leaf makes a heart in the chest 

of one of its larger brethren, anthropomorphizing

a species that makes life on Earth possible

for the oxygen breathing species among us.

Men at Work ... in Holes

This hole held technical equipment used by AT&T. 

The man administering the hole told me 

I'd missed the alligator that they'd removed earlier. 

I believed him about as much as he believed my story

that I was in charge of seeing that all hole

work was competently and completely done.

A few feet away, a pair of men was working to place a steel cover 

on an operational hole for another of the city's utilities.

Verticals, Horizontals, and Something Different

After lunch on Wednesday, I walked down Meridian Street 

towards the Circle. A long tunnel of scaffolding 

has been constructed outside one of the AT&T buildings 

to protect pedestrians as they walk 

beneath the workmen. As always, I was impressed by 

the lines and shadows created by the scaffolding 

and its shadows. The horizontal stripes of the woman's

jacket just added to the jumpy visual effect.

The same for the swirls in the dress of 

the woman in the above picture.

As for the "something different,"

every time I see one of these trucks I wonder

why some men need to make such

 a production of their love-making that

it becomes a project, fer crissakes.

Peeny engineering, indeed.

Grumpy

I took a picture of this alleyway a few days ago because 

I liked all the patterns made by various grids.

In the end, I found myself intrigued by the little bit

of graffiti in the lower left corner.

At first, I thought it was a sprayed stencil image

of a French Bulldog. Further research

proved it to be the tagger's version of the most

popular internet cat meme, Grumpy Cat.

GC, whose real name is Tardar Sauce, was just recently 

signed to a movie deal. If a script can be developed that is

as clever as the comments made for the photos,

then that movie may be one animal pic I can stand for

more than 5 minutes.

At any rate, GC's expression matches what I feel when 

I see my favorite man being followed around by

a half-his-age mid-life crisis in four-inch heels.

I wake up every day with a positive attitude, thinking

that if I do my part, if I work hard, my dreams will come true.

However, I fail to take into account that other people 

may have similar plans; believe me, brains and humor will

be trumped by a thigh-high min-skirt every time.

Beautiful Misery

The past few summers have been dry.

Not this year, because every living thing has 

received a fair allotment of rain.

Everything is its appropriate green,

rose, pink or yellow color.

And everything exists in abundance.

Which goes a long way to explaining why

I acquired a miserable, lingering summer cold

complete with fever, aches, and annoying coughing 

spells that are exhausting.

These pictures show two of the 

suspects. I dearly love them and enjoy

their presence far more than

anything offered by fall and winter.

But thy, oh, why, did they and

their floral brethren decide to target me?

I love them!

Right Where He Belongs

Solemnly smoking a cigarette and checking 

his text messages, this man was relegated 

to the proper area for these activities - out in the alley

by the trash bins.

A City of the Future

Last Sunday, I took a walk through part of "old" Speedway, 

to search fro some of the original garages that were built 

when the town was started on July 14, 1926.

The track was first opened in 1909 and the first Indy 500

was held in 1911. One of the track's founders, Carl Fisher,

envisioned the Town of Speedway as the nation's

"first horseless city," with paved streets, brick paved alleyways

that provided access to garages that were built

adjacent to each of the new homes.

As far as I can tell, many of the little garages survive 

in various stages of repair. Most of them have 

been sided over, with nearly all having their original

hung doors replaced with overhead doors.

A few still had their original doors, but could also stand

some attention and restoration. The one below

at least had an overhead door made to resemble

the hung doors originally specified by the designer.

This one had been encased in vinyl siding that has been 

allowed to loosen and split from the corner, 

where I could see the dry, gray original wood.

Oh, yeah, when this "city of the future" was laid out, 
sidewalks were not a part of the plans. While steps have 
been taken to rectify this matter, especially in 
recent years, there are still sections of the town
where pedestrians must either stumble along an uneven
curb, or risk being hit by speeding cars.
Even then, plans were afoot, so to speak, 
to make us so entirely dependent on our cars 
we could not safely walk to meet our neighbors. 
Thus, the "Lard Ass Nation" was conceived.

Summer Work

The weather has finally broken, allowing us to lean towards summer, 

leaving behind the chilly temperatures that plagued us 

through most of the spring.

No surer sign of spring exists than to see various

home improvement projects being started on the neighborhood

homes. At morning, trailers hitched behind pick-up trucks

can be seen leaving apartment complexes all around town. 

Traveling crews come into the area, performing work 

contracted earlier by various contractors.

I remember going to Des Moines one summer 

with Carl, who was having new roofs 

put on a couple of his properties.

The crew that came in was largely Hispanic, 

with a tall, lean man who seemed 

to be their foreman. They parked their trailer 

under a shade tree and went to work, neatly

and efficiently removing the old roof, 

that was tossed into the trailer.

Just as tidily the new roof was installed,

the men and women cleaned up after themselves,

then went on to the next contract, the next town

on their itinerary. Imagine my surprise when,

the following summer, I saw the same tall,

lean man supervising a crew as they 

installed a new roof on a nearby 

apartment building.

Sick

The day seemed bright and brand new when I took these pictures. 

A week on, fighting a sinus infection, I feel like crap,

unable to enjoy the beauty I've been given. 

I will go and huddle in my bed, watch TV, read, and possibly 

write to my muse, to let him know I think he's a dick.

We have hawks and falcons all over town.

I spied this one, perched on a telephone wire

looking for mice. He didn't have long to enjoy 

whatever reveries hawks might entertain,

though, because a squadron of sparrows flew in

to torment and drive him from his perch.

I last saw him flying towards the protection of

a tree, with six of the little birds in pursuit,

chattering and scolding him all the way.
To see our downtown falcons, maybe,
as four babies have fledged,
follow this link.

A Day of Rest ... Maybe

Last Sunday morning, as I walked along 

the neighborhood streets of Speedway, 

I encountered a lot of people going about the 

business of  work, painting, installing new siding, mowing

 their lawns and washing their cars.

This man, along with his cute pet dog,

was accompanying his wife on her jog around

the streets. Unfortunately, my little

camera was too slow to catch her as well.

Mirror Image

While downtown on Saturday, I saw this young man 

and his father waiting for their car.

I couldn't help but notice their similar, 

fidgity postures and mannerisms.

It's A Miracle!

A little after 8 PM this evening, drivers approaching 

Lynhurst Drive in Speedway would have seen 

this price for gasoline.

Praise be to OPEC!

However, drivers approaching the station from 

the opposite direction saw this sign instead.

No word on what the price would have been

had someone wanted to indulge his

"irregular" self.

Speedway Street Art: The Moon in the Pavement

When I saw the circles in the parking lot, it was 

as if I'd seen the moon at my feet.

Crews were adding a new seal coat to a nearby

parking lot, with sections marked off as they

progressed across the expanse of asphalt. 

It looked as though the moon was being balanced in 

the night sky by strategically placed strokes

of sumi-e, creating what appeared to be minimalist

ink paintings in the middle of a strip mall.

For My Muse: Swimming

Two or three times a week, I go to the IUPUI Natatorium after work to swim.

I enter the building, passing vents emitting warm air

smelling of chlorine, a smell from a familiar past, of a dormant skill.

In the locker room, I share space with younger women and girls,

all of whom take their bodies and strengths for granted.

I undress/dress then enter the pool area, where I stand at the edge

of the pool, divided by colored markers into eight long lanes.

Sleek, seal-like people are swimming laps, marking

their progress with long, lazy strokes.

I drop into the pool, where I am enveloped in the cool,

blue water, suspended briefly between realities

of past, future, and now, until the water pushes me upward

to breathe again and to take my place among the others;

I check the clock then join the other seal heads

to begin my own journey.

ONE-two-three-four, FIVE-six-seven-eight!

I find a cadence, stretching and pulling with each stroke.

Water passes over and around me, yet creates a wall

I must push through to get to what I want.

KICK-kick-kick! PULL-pull-pull!

And I do until my body burns and old injuries are searing

from flashbacks to their origins. My body swims

beneath banners hung from the ceiling, images of champions -

Gary Hall, Janet Evans, Micheal Phelps, and Dara Torres - 

whose brilliant smiles belie the tortuous work 

required to reach their goals.

Up and down, back and forth I go,

remembering to remember to keep my body straight,

a blueberry trying to become an arrow in the water,

doing the thing I fear to work towards my goal; 

tired of being invisible, I work to shed my gray cocoon.

As I climb the ladder, music plays in the background,

Ray Charles' "You Don't Know Me," and I leave to

dry my wings in the late afternoon sun.

In a Tangle

Thrown into the bed of a pick-up truck, a string of perfectly 

good ideas lies tangled, thrown aside 

in favor more prosaic imagery.