Thank You, November.
A walk in Arboretum –
a feast for the eyes.
Thanks
Uncategorized
Frog Prince
Ponderous
Frog prince camouflage
Riveting, ponderous gaze
Where is his princess?
The Wanderer
One of the four led an attack,
loosed the yarn from the skein.
Unraveled thus she flew to the woods
to sort her heart from her brain.
Pinesap and toadstools welcomed her home,
in treetops she spotted birds nests.
It was here she need not think too hard,
here where her heart found rest.
Did the four influence this wandering child,
friend of the thing with feathers?
For in the woods is where she sensed hope
a place where she was untethered.
It’s All Funny in 2020
In 1908 in Seattle, a ship called “Corona” launched from downtown Seattle to West Seattle with a full deck of passengers. You can faintly make out “Corona” on the front of this ship which was one among others in the Mosquito Fleet.
The Mosquito Fleet ships were so nicknamed because they were small and quick, flitting from one side of the sound to the other.
While I never sailed on this ghost of the past, I did have a mosquito commute to work on the Sightseer which was pleasant.
It took only 12 minutes to cross to downtown Seattle and was far preferable to 40-minute bus and car commutes on the West Seattle Bridge. Less gridlock, less carbon footprints.
Before the Sightseer, I commuted on the Admiral Pete. Pete was much smaller than the Sightseer. He was the first water taxi when Seattle re-launched service in 1999. I used to sit on an open seat in the back and feel the water’s spray against my skin.
But in 2020, things aren’t funny. We are in lockdown now, with cities across the world in the same situation.
The haunting image of the Italian balcony singers of our Corona days presses me to get outdoors as often as possible.
My husband and I ventured out for a walk to Elliott Bay. With Purell in our pockets and donning our disposable gloves, we visited the dock where the water taxis moor.
A water taxi was pulling in. I was curious as to ridership these days, and so I spoke to the ticket taker. Ridership is down 90%, he said, even though King County is offering rides for free.
Social distancing on the water taxi? Of course, what was I thinking? This is the new normal. It just takes so dang long for me to wrap my mind around it all.
But wait, there’s more! A few weeks ago, the City of Seattle decided to shut down the West Seattle Bridge for repairs. There is no timeline for even temporary repairs. We are in a pandemic and the most heavily trafficked bridge in Seattle is closed? People are finding alternate routes, adding more time and requiring more patience, as they attempt to get to appointments, buy essentials.
I’d like to say things are funny in 2020. I’d like to say “bring on the mosquito fleet” so we could all feel salt breezes and avoid gridlock on bridges.
Though I will never feel nostalgic for gridlock, I am nostalgic for mosquito fleets. But also for bridges — which, after all, were first developed by the ancient Romans.
The Scream
Humane crows in our lovely Lincoln Park
Two crows mourn on a wire;
they caw from their perch in the sky.
They emit shrill cries —
wings beat rancor, grief
at the sight of the fallen third,
road kill left behind by squealing tires.
One wing of the dead crow points to the lost freedom of the sky.
In death, does the crow’s wing beckon its clan to remember their connection?
Logic diminishes my whimsy as cars speed by and further crush the bird.
The two mourners fly and flap from one wire to another.
Drivers, oblivious of the crow funeral, move headlong to their lives
as I, too, enter my vehicle on the way to an appointment.
The crow screams are lost, muffled as news blares from the radio:
Mass shooting At A Texas Walmart —
and I ponder humanity’s numbness towards death.
Of Robots and Radishes
My attempt at growing radishes. Some day this could be us.
Lately my husband and I have been discussing health care directives and disposal of our remains once we leave this wacky planet.
I ask him who in their right mind would want a robot taking care of them in their decrepitude? I tell him about some old guy in England who uses a Skype on Wheels with a television monitor for virtual visits from friends, family, and healthcare professionals. Loved ones phone your robot to check in on you.
His take on it? Might be easier to get along with a bot than with family.
Did he forget Hal from 2001, A Space Odyssey? Mutinous robots seem scarier to me than mutinous humans – even my Mother, God rest her soul.
In the 21st century we have robots performing surgery in hospitals and robots used in prototypes for self-driving cars.
And how about this? — servant and playmate robots for the elderly. The internet is sprinkled with such scenes: robots serving breakfast, robots lifting person to couch, robots smooched by an old man, robots carrying magazines while an elderly person lounges, robots playing computer card game with old lady.
The human being is the next frontier for the robot. In fact, some robots look like humans.
But they’re NOT.
We move on to discuss the disposal of our remains. Specifically, human composting.
He doesn’t flinch.
Me? I am mortified to read that Washington State is the first state in the U.S. to legalize human composting. By 2020 we could have a human composting facility five miles from our house.
Do I want to end up in some feed bag for a stranger’s garden? Do I come back as a radish or beefsteak tomato?
Does he like this idea better than cremation or burial?
He nixes the burial idea, says it is selfish for the dead to take up land in cemeteries and that the world is crowded enough.
He has a point there. But when it comes to deciding between burial, burning, or composting, I am like “Bartleby the Scrivener”: I would prefer not to.
As for the robots? I am not ready to play canasta with them. Beam me up, Elon!
How do you folks feel about these topics?
Love’s Labor
Sculptor had this mounted on car roof in Soho District.
For hubby’s 50th, we took a trip to the Big Apple. Ya gotta admire the Love and Labor this sculptor poured into his depiction of 1930’s Iron Workers at lunch on scaffolds high in the sky.
Hats off to the laborers who braved heights to build some of NY’s magnificent skyscrapers.
Dandelion
Cumulus clouds drifting dusty seedheads –
as if a yearning ancestor carried them from skeletal beginnings,
they dance on the wind
germinating and growing and weaving chains of childhood memories.
Up close to my nose, the butter-mustard tang of the dandy
reminiscent of crazy salads prepared by Italian aunts,
lion’s greens dressed and tossed at picnics, splashed and anointed with chianti,
spilling from bowls on the oilcloth beneath a summer sky.
Knowing no bias for neighborhoods, they poke from city sidewalks,
cow pastures,
from the cracks of suburban cul-de-sacs.
There is something uncommonly common
about the dandelion.
RomanWink Galleries 