Monday, April 30, 2012







Photos I promised of the Snails of North Austin. They lead such a nomadic existence, carrying shelter wherever they roam. Their experience of time must be entirely off kilter from ours - they operate at such slower rates of speed!

Saturday, April 28, 2012


I remember the first time I saw a great blue heron. I was riding on the back seat of a motorcycle in the early 1980s on a rural two-lane road between Austin and Dripping Springs, and the driver stretched out his arm and pointed. A large blue gray bird was majestically beating its wings, floating above a great field alongside the road.

Everything went into pause, an expansiveness, a wildness, the heron in the blue clouded sky, and us on the bike, traveling on parallel, synchronous courses. The bird was in its ancient space and we in our industrial world, holding on to the sacred moment.

Thursday, April 26, 2012








The air smells sweet from the doorstep;
trees are sighing like waves rolling in from the sea.
The earth is hard and thirsty
beneath a coverlet of green.

We no longer wish for rain.
Without any wishes,
we breathe in the contradiction
of sweet air at night.

All things are true.

The coffee shop
is still brewing coffee in the morning;
there are sugar cookies
behind the counter.







I don't know.



Tuesday, April 24, 2012










The photos of flowers and butterflies this week are all from April, 2012, Austin, Texas, 78757. I moved on February 1 to a different area in the same part of town. I've been fascinated by the flowers and phenomena in my new backyard. These flowers, and the funny deep blue flowers I posted earlier this month, are new to me. I haven't watered them but once back in February. We've had very little rain, yet they thrive in the dry earth. The blue ones, for such tall plants, have very short roots.

I don't see pistils or stamen in these orange ones - they may be hidden deep in the blooms I suppose. I'm hesitant to dissect a bloom and find out. There are similar plants in the neighborhood with bright yellow blooms. (I'm so very grateful to see flowers this year. There were almost none in the heat of spring 2011.)

The former residents left a couple of small gardens in the backyard. Some kale they planted lasted without much growth or deterioration from early February to mid-April, the same plant, fresh and green. Finally, in the last couple of days, I think the snails have got to them, the leaves turning to lace. I hope to get good photos of these colorful snails with shells a full inch in diameter. The snails when I lived in central Texas in the past were tiny and white. These are more impressive, and if they're what's doing the eating, they have appetites.

Monday, April 23, 2012







Whether the subject is an insect or a human, there is a collaboration between a photographer and his or her subject. (It's not just camera-shy friends who don't want to be captured. Sometimes even flowers dodge the lens.) In this case, the butterflies were tolerant of my interest, and remained poised as I took a few pictures.

Saturday, April 21, 2012



i will find you / in my dreams / walking through.... / walking through.... / i will find you



Friday, April 20, 2012

Pedernales Falls State Park 15 April 2012
The park has changed.

Thursday, April 19, 2012









My camera is drawn to the unusual. It's not my fault. Really!

These are from March, 2012, Northwest Park, Austin, Texas. I don't know what the brown mounds are.

I spent about an hour hunting through my photos for a plain old visually pleasing photo to post. But - they're all weird!

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


I was intrigued by these flowers here in Austin this week. They are not familiar to me.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


sometimes
I look around me
and my brain goes
snap, crackle, and pop



Maybe everything is connected. Everybody's related.

With our eyes, we see.
With our ears, we hear.
With our noses, we smell.
With our tongues, we taste.
With our skins, we touch.
With our guts, we feel.

So much info we receive!

If we were flies, we'd see more. We'd see differently.

If we were hummingbirds, we'd see ultraviolet patterns in the flowers around us. Ultraviolet patterns exist. Our human eyes just can't see them without assistance from cameras and filters.

If we were dogs or cats, our noses would tell us about the neighbor who just patted our heads. We'd smell where she just came from, what she ate for lunch, who she shook hands with yesterday. We would know that she'd been on the same street where our sister lives, that she had the exact same kind of taco we had for breakfast, only with cheese, that she shook hands with our father's barber who happens to drive a car that was maintained this morning by our nephew.


We do perceive hints of that connection, that oneness. Human bodies perhaps just aren't designed with a mechanism, a sensitive enough nose or gut, to perceive it with clarity. We respond blindly to the vibrations a mouse, stone, river, or feather sends out. We are largely unaware of the waves we make and receive, the magnetism among us.

But just because a dog is color blind, doesn't mean colors don't exist, right?

Monday, April 16, 2012


The road didn't curve right. The air didn't smell right. The land was tilted precariously in places that had been flat. Water was flowing down a trough in the sand from who knows where. Many of the trees looked foreign. The dry leafless limbs on the native trees had twisted inward. There were rocks in patterns, and rocks that looked as though a giant toddler had brought boulders in his pockets and dropped them every which way.

Some of the changes did make it prettier. Clusters of gerber daisies nodded in the sunlight.

The road turnoff sign suggested this was the same park she'd loved across thirty years. Why did it seem so unfamiliar?

She wanted to cry, but came down with an existential bout of hiccups instead. Where's the real park? she wanted to ask, but the staff had already called it a day and fled.

Saturday, April 14, 2012


i have a slow stride
going down the sidewalk.
The rain barrel
in the backyard
is empty.
i cross the street -
the Chapel of Hope
is locked -
all four doors.
This might be a ghost town
but there are cats out
and neighbors with their
cans of orange soda
and mounds of black earth
in the middle of driveways,
waiting for gardens,
waiting for rain.
The wind whisks leaves
in a fury of dust.
The certainty of endings -
ashes to ashes -
greets the insistence of life.


Friday, April 13, 2012
























'They played with a motley collection of old chipped glassies covered in brown, blue, and black swirls. A few guys used pre-World War II "taws" stained in bright primary colors like miniature billiard balls. These heavy, scarred veterans were prized far above the common marbles they squandered like pocket change, and were saved for when the stakes were highest and most reserves had been depleted. But prized above all were the clay ancients inherited from fathers and grandfathers. These fat, homemade wobblies had been hand-rolled and baked hard in country fireplaces. They were never entered in competition because they could be so easily shattered. Instead, each boy carried his favorite like a talisman for luck and magic. This population of marbles was in constant motion as favorites were lost and re-won and expendables were squandered.'

Douglas J. Haydel
'The Bunkie Wars'
Louisiana Literature
Fall 1991
Volume 8 Number 2

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


On good days, they remembered to float. On some days, they forgot. Things kept shifting. They searched for logic, but found that 2 plus 2 equals 5 today, and 3 tomorrow.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012


This image was taken in March, 2012. Some backyard mystery flowers at my new place - still in north Austin. They're hardy, don't seem to require much water, and multiply freely. Cartoon characters of the backyard!
Brentwood Park, Austin, Texas 4-8-12