the moon reflects– caught between inside and out returning the light
For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge collection, I have chosen #170, Solstice II, December 19th. These are photos I took of the moon, which appeared briefly that night between the buildings. The clouds soon moved in, dashing any hopes of seeing the two planets in conjunction.
What most interested me about the photos was that the half moon appeared most clearly as a reflection caught in the glass of my window. Perhaps that’s all we can really hope to see this year–a mirrored image capturing what fleetingly enters our field of vision if we are lucky enough to be looking that way.
darkness plays with clouds
hint at full moon
Who needs Macy’s? For weeks, the neighborhood has been in full fireworks mode, with displays launching from both sidewalks and the rooftops of at least 5 surrounding buildings. Last night they were still going off at 5am. Strangely, I’ve learned to sleep (mostly) through them.
So the moon had to compete with both on and off cloudcover and the rocket’s red glare…
I wonder if it will be quiet tonight…(not really…this will go on for a few more weeks I’m sure…it hasn’t been this noisy in June and July since the 70s)
My mother’s cousin Paul was a pilot who was shot down and killed in WWII. She often spoke of him with admiration and affection.
When my mother died, she left boxes of unidentified family photos; my aunt helped a bit with identifications, but she was much younger than her siblings, and had not known the southern Ohio cousins very well. In my mother’s address book, I found her second cousin Mona, Paul’s niece, who patiently looked through many photo scans I emailed her.
Finally I had a face to put to my mother’s words.
silence speaks your name–
through distant shadows of trees
crow answers, calling
This is a revision of a post from 2015. However we are spending this day, let’s take a moment to remember those who served their country and sacrificed their lives so that we could enjoy our own.
After not venturing outside at all for weeks, I finally worked up the courage to take the elevator down to the basement and exit the back door, crossing the street to the park. My apartment windows face Broadway and the view this weekend was especially chilly and grey.
I figured the bitter wind and drizzle, plus the early hour, would keep the walkway fairly empty, and I was right. A few joggers, some dog walkers, a man with a shopping cart.
I could hear robins, and then two appeared on the path right in front of me. I was in a different time and space. The world had been returned to me in color, at least for half an hour on a Sunday morning.