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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:06:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
She is delivered by a black car with one suitcase and two packs of gum. To a place in the city. Italian family. Six noisy kids. The mother always screaming but never angry. Black cast-iron stove in the kitchen she lights with a long piece of straw. Smell of gas, garlic cooking. The father walked out every night after supper. Nodded to her in her private school uniform though she didn't go to school anymore. They walked to the Boulevard an hour away. Past the Park and the Cathedral. Past the markets with strung-up salamis and cheeses, glassy black and green olives in barrels, cookies that looked like miniature weddings and made the street smell of almonds. When she lagged, he didn't tell her to catch up. When he got to the place where she was to wait, he pointed. She stood in front of the restaurant and watched hotdogs turn on a roller grill. He went into the bar next door. He paid off or he collected. When he collected he bought two hotdogs with double Texas hot sauce. He handed one to her. He stopped at the farmers market and threw a crate of oranges up on his shoulder. An hour back. When he passed the Cathedral he made the sign of the cross. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, stern, like what are you waiting for? She crossed herself too. End of April. May. Early June. Sun in the sky every day a little longer. Nighttime not starting 'til nine. She liked it. She thought she'd stay there forever.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:07:29  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Reverend Buckman~
Was the bass players name Skeeter?
Keep drivin'.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2705 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:09:31  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he forever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than the other birds upon the plain, even though they soar"

Herman Melville
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2705 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:14:53  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Ailinn~

Skeeter was his last name...
Mo was his first..

Rev
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:23:21  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When I lived in the Catskills...I couldn't sleep.
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buckman
Firefly

USA
2705 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  19:45:57  Show Profile  Visit buckman's Homepage  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
I slept once, in the Catskills for 20 years...
When I awoke a man was standing at my feet...
He said, The answer is Washington,Irving..."

I said, The question is, "Who was the First President, Sam?"

I used to look at Sleepy Hollow from my bedroom window... This is our time of year...

Rip
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/28/2004 :  20:42:56  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Doves in the palm trees, mice in the ivy. Ghosts flying out from under the eaves. "Tell the truth," he says seeing everything. His shine and blue heart way. God knows we're trying. Running under hollow Heaven picking fig leaves on our way out of the Garden.
Taking my neighbor to buy curtains tomorrow. He is nearly blind. "Curtains?..." I say. He says, "Don't see more into this than there is." Oh-oh. A Lady waiting in the wings.
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Ron L.
Swinger

USA
675 Posts

Posted - 10/29/2004 :  10:24:50  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The Forest Service road is about 500
ft above the river on the south side.
It is very strange in this somewhat wild
area that there are occasional curbs on
the river side covered with green moss.

An occasional pickup stops but for the moment,
he prefers to walk. The sound of a boat drones
from below and some still carry the mail upriver.
This area of Oregon is a fisherman's dream and it's
easy to imagine Zane Grey in the 20's and Clark
Gable in the 40's casting for trout and steelhead.

The road has a broad canopy of unbroken growth. There
are alders with their Dalmation trunks on either side
along with firs that may go back thousands of years.
Ferns are everywhere. You can see and hear hawks with
their cries bouncing off the canyon. The time goes by,
neither fast nor slow. He has willed it that way;
fast enough to race the pain, slow enough to caress
her memory.

He thinks if he ever quits snoking, the thing he would
miss the most would be the actions that go along with it;
tapping the end, flicking the lighter as you cupped
your hands, and that first reflective drag as part
of your mind drifts with the smoke. He leaned against
a tall pine, looked down at the flowing majesty
and thought...it's really harder to cry
when you're smoking.

Edited by - Ron L. on 10/29/2004 10:26:22
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/29/2004 :  21:21:26  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They wanted the "Quintessential Southern California Experience." Brother of a guy Stu was in the Army with over 35 years ago. Retired now. On a trip traveling the USA. From Rhode Island. "So let's not do beaches," they say. Okay. We just lost the essence of quin. Took them to the Escondido Library. To see THE celebrity, LC. LC for Library cat. Eight years old and there as long as we've brought the kids to Story Time. LC's social. Not aloof. Rolls her shoulders and acts like life's a bowl of caviar. Sleeps on the warm photo copy machine. Kids grab her tail and pull her whiskers. Wear her around their shoulders like a shawl. Carry her by her neck. Feed her cheese crackers (goldfish?) and sticky gummy bears. She's been snuck home a couple of times but always finds her way back to the stacks. Became famous for scratching a dog. No- because the dog's owner sued the Library and lost. LC has her own Fan Club. And because we're in harmony with our Karma ~AND~ we're wearing our special Beanie Propeller Protector hats, a movie crew was right there filming it all for posterity. "Doesn't get much better than this," Stu says with Cam up on his shoulders. Very nice people. Haven't been around little kids in a loooonnng, long time. Here's some handi-wipes for that peanut butter and jelly. "We LOVE your climate," he says. "Yeah, but the tarantulas are big as dinner plates, right, hon...and the ground moves a lot more than they show you on TV." (God loves this man.) Taking them to Old Town tomorrow. Near the Gas Lamp area in San Diego. Twenty-five miles from the border. Cold Margaritas. Hot spicy black bean salsa. Blue corn chips and guacamole. Strolling mariachis singing Rancho Grande. When they get home they'll write letters telling us how much they loved Mexico. Memory puts them there. Sunday it's make the popcorn, carve the faces, toast the seeds. (I was hoping to slide on that one. The seeds. A slimy mess.) "But, remember last year!!??..." Cameron does. Happy Trick-Or-Treating to all. Hocus Pocus.
PS: The tarp's still on the roof and we're waiting for Santa Ana.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/30/2004 :  20:21:41  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Words fall from his mouth far away
Eerily wise
Her heart leaves to go with him
Her hands too
A full moon on the rooftop
Broken Mercury
Look to history
The road traveled before
The same moon in the attic
The same salty stars on the stairs
The same stumbling boots on the Boulevard
Hearts breaking in slow motion
Again
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/31/2004 :  07:17:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~For All Hallows Eve~

The key falls to the ground at the Checkpoint. Guards change into uniforms of burnt paper. Crows with sharp-shooter eyes plot crimes from high wires. Leaves curl and rattle on the trees. The sun slides impaled on a stake, even as it it rising. Black gulls fly out of the black sea. Dip your hands in that cold water. How could this not happen today?

AND FOR YOU...

The Witch Watch, Magician.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 10/31/2004 :  18:00:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
~*~

The crows all have glass eyes and the Border Guards are bad shots at any range. White doves appear to be black against a blue sky at sunrise.

The Truth is in the ancient word, Well. We will gather at the Well. For water is...so precious. Here...have a cup of water.

All is well...as it should be. There is nothing to fear.

~Mickey Newbury~
October 31, 2000
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/03/2004 :  18:14:09  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"Here I sat on a boulder by the winter-streaming river and put my head in my hands and considered time - which is next to nothing, merely what vanishes, and yet can make one's elbows nearly pierce one's thighs.
Here I forgot how to sing in the old way and listened to frogs at dusk make their more angelic croaking.
Here the local fortune teller took my hand and said, "What is still possible is inspired work, faithfulness to a few, and a last love, which, being last, will be like looking up and seeing the parachute dissolving in a shower of golden light..."

~Galway Kinnell~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/05/2004 :  21:51:58  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
You have to cross the tracks before you get to the beach. Cross the railroad tracks everyday. Kids feeding KIX to the seagulls. Big surf today. But 63, not 70, when sun flares the windows momentarily blind. Hey! You up there in your piney wood... What dawn falls over the wall tomorrow? The stars plot their courses, sun-shot. Checking into The Lost Hotel.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/06/2004 :  19:25:18  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
The night does not close without him
Her breath fogs the lighthouse window
Where she waits for his tall ships' arrival
The broken coast curves
Stars litter the star-strewn sea
Fervently devoted to water
Engraving the waves where they fall
Darkness deepens
And a truth shines on the ocean
His bright soul
Still holding her heart hostage
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/07/2004 :  18:41:00  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
When I lived in the other country... Oh... Hundreds of years ago. The sea was at my door. A colder sea for sure. The sky was low. Filled with wailing cries. The men of my village made small vessels from hide. Currachs that flew weightless o'er the water. A rescue fleet to save ships from the vengeful, rocky places. Ah... They had another purpose. Sinners they put into these tiny boats. Set them on the brine. No food, no water, no oars. Sun-blind by day. At night, the spinning stars. Delirious with fear and hunger. Chilled by salt-mist air. Prayers flung into the ocean. And then a light from a far-off land. A shallow shine through epic fog was how she found this shore.

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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/07/2004 :  18:43:16  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
"The Ocean is always looking for a way into your boat." ~ The U. S. Coast Guard, on lifesaving ~
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/08/2004 :  19:23:51  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
They come late to the shop together. The fireman and the guy who fixes the fire extinguishers. They check the tags tied with wire. Take the tanks outside to the truck. Stare at the darkening sky. And the menu that just lit up across the street in the window of Blue Lucy's Cantina. "Monday Special ~ Carne Asada Burrito." They do something I don't see. My new tags are punched NOVEMBER 2005 - DO NOT REMOVE BY ORDER OF THE STATE FIRE MARSHALL. "Have a great night!" they say, and cross the street to Lucy.
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/09/2004 :  18:34:19  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
Taking my neighbor shopping tomorrow after work. A birthday present for his lady, Catherine. "What do you think of a cashmere shawl?" he asks me. "I think it says love," I say. "Let's go for it, then," he says. Catherine is 71. Eleven years a widow. Mr. Gardener is a little bit older. 76 or 77, I think. He's not saying. Legally blind now. It happened gradually over the past several years. I took him for his "daylight" driving test 5 years ago. My hand at his elbow. Grim smile when he said, "an' if I don't pass, I jus' go to work on these," and he slapped his legs. He didn't pass. And now he's found himself, "...a real fine lady with wheels!" Oh, love in the tinsel Mall tomorrow!
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Ailinn
Windchimer

1895 Posts

Posted - 11/09/2004 :  21:55:11  Show Profile  Edit Reply  Reply with Quote  View user's IP address  Delete Reply
We are sleeping on the desert. Halfway between San Lupe and the Valle de San Ynez. It takes a long time to get here by horseback. The trail is trecherous and does not love the traveler. We make the campfire fast. One minute the horizon is in flames. Then the sun sets. The Guards are restless. The worm dreams in the bottle they pass on hand-to-hand. Moonlight does not please them. Paseo Del Norte is closed, they say. He knows another way.
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