Moonrise

I made this picture several years ago. 

Some friends were getting ready to go to a Christmas party 

(it was the middle of November) and asked me to

take their picture before they left.

 After they had gone, I returned to the boat 

where I saw the moon rising in the east, pink and

lavender clouds in the sky and reflected in the river's

surface. Of course, I had to make a painting of the scene.

The usual intention is to cover the entire canvas 

with color, but when I got this far, I figured I'd told

my story: There they were - the moon, the clouds, 

the reflections, the white boats against the

dark green shadows.

I loved that place, that time.

A Wider View ...

As I took a picture of this mirror, it struck me as something 

of a contradiction - that the small convex circle condenses 

the outside world in order to project a wider view of same.

 And there's me, hoping I don't get hit by my proverbial beer truck

as I focus on the mirror.

In recent years, I've watched as a couple dear friends increasingly

cut themselves off from their friends and the women who loved them,

retreating into old fears and prejudices. In face of changes in the/their

worlds they could not accept - everything from the United States'

first black President to the failure of their penises due to years

of bad diets - they saw only threats from terrorists and self-created

gremlins. One returned to his home town, where he had spent years trying 
to escape an abusive home life, while the other became a recluse, 

and both were unmoved by their friends' concerns; 

nothing could budge them from their

self-imposed isolation.

As the years pass, I hope to always take the wider view. 

I want my life to be a series of small adventures every day, new things

to see and do. Even if it's just writing a small book or an 

"alligator slider" on my dinner plate, it means I'm learning new things,

researching a bit of the world I hadn't before experienced.

Oddly enough, both men played a part in helping 

me to acquire that attitude, to accepting it as 

a part of life, of growth. 

I guess that's why I always prefer sunrises - another

day to see how badly I screw up or get it right,

Another day to explore. While I may not exactly push for 

the edge of the envelope, I do extend my boundaries.

Just a little bit. Maybe.

Flannel Shirt

I'd never seen cotton bolls before a trip we took to Houston.
On our way home we stopped at the edge of this field,
where Carl cut some stalks for me. I still have them, in a vase.

Going through a closet, 

I found one of Carl's old flannel shirts

hanging among my jackets. 

Its subdued plaid - tan, 

dark red and olive green, 

reflected the outdoor style of the man.

The soft folds hold memories,

smells from his work, of smoke from bonfires, 

and sawdust, or oil from an engine.

I held it against my face, then

wrapped myself in the nubby fabric 

and lay on the bed for a while, 

his scattered pheronomes 

enveloping me one more time 

in his strong embrace

where I'd often sought shelter,

safe from the toxic cunts 

who ruled my office 

and made my work such hell.

I got up, folded the shirt, and

returned it to the dark drawer, 

where it lay, a carapace of the man

who protected me, who gave me courage. 

A reminder of the love not gone,

just in another place.