I am in here.
Gail over at Crossing the Rubicon2 just posted this, and for some reason, it’s exactly what I needed to read at this time. I’m not sure why that’s so, but I’m going with the gut feeling, and posting it here too. Thanks, Gail! Box of Rain Look out of any window any morning, any evening, … Continue reading Box of words
So I would hear out those lungs, The air split into nine levels, Some gift of tongues of the whistler In the invalid’s bed: my mother, Warbling all day to herself The thousand variations of one song; It is called Buckdancer’s Choice. For years, they have all been dying Out, the classic buck-and-wing men Of … Continue reading Buckdancer's Choice
If I am to blog without telling some of the reasons I hate January, it will be exceedingly difficult to write today. The day grows longer and my foot grows better. The rest of me is becoming entirely too self-absorbed. Self-absorption, I am finding, is not cured by listening to music very loud. It is … Continue reading January
but what about the plastic animals? Minton’s Playhouse, where be-bop was born. 118th St.
white pebble 