Rainy Day

08 Aug 2015

8/7/15

Rainy Day

The rain feels refreshing after the heat of the last week. It quenches some thirst of the skin so that I stand in the front yard, my arms outstretched. Its fall is gentle like a lover’s fingers trailing down my arm. I breathe in the moisture, feeling the mist of the air caress my nose and throat, and slip into my lungs on air that is more H2O than pure O. I stand a child of Mother Earth and spread my limbs like a tree to glory in the rain.

BAMorris

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Advance Guard

25 May 2015

4/5/15

Advance Guard

I go for a walk with my little dog in the twilight hours of early morning. She runs reconnaissance in front of me, nose to the ground and tail straight up like the flag of our expedition. She is following a nose map from some overnight visitor. The map informs her of who and when and where. When she comes to a marking, she stops to smell, then leaves her own calling card to say, “I trump you!” And when it’s time to turn back home, I click to her, and she stays to sniff one last whiff, and then runs ahead of me, once again the forward scout for the battalion of Mom and Foxxi.

BAMorris

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Snowing Leaves

21 May 2015

10/26/14

Snowing Leaves

It’s snowing leaves. Drifting down they come in groups of twos and threes, doing some Swan Lake ballet we can’t hear. Then like a slow snow fall, the drive gradually becomes covered with a rich ruby carpet. It’s snowing leaves.

BAMorris

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Moon on the Edge

05 May 2015

5/3/15

Moon on the Edge

There’s a big orange moon sitting on the edge of the world. Just sitting there. I remember the old sailor’s rhyme: “Red sun in morning. Sailor’s warning.” But that is about the sun, and this is the moon, and it is orange. So I guess this doesn’t foretell bad storms. It is poised as if getting ready to hurl itself into the dark deep abyss that is on the other side of the wall of the world as we know it. Ready to plunge to its death. Ready. And then, it slowly begins to sink into the bank of clouds on the horizon and disappear into the magic of morning.

BAMorris

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Snow

22 Feb 2015

2/21/15

Snow

Snow is happy. Watching the fall of ivory flakes lightens one’s mood. There is the newness of life in a snowfall. All the ugliness of life, of earth, of winter, is layered over with a blanket of forgiveness. For a short period of time, before snow plows and feet turn the white to sordidness, for a brief moment all is pure in the world. Looking out one’s window is like looking into a fairyland, an icy wonderland. For a flash of time, we are all children again and it’s time to marvel at snow!

BAMorris

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February Sky

22 Feb 2015

2/21/15

February Sky

The sky is the color of lead: heavy and cold. There is no welcoming moon to light the way. It is hidden by the damp carpet of clouds. There are no twinkling stars giggling and twittering like school girls sharing the secrets of the sky. There is nothing but the endless expanse of dull, dark foretelling. They say it is going to snow. But this morning is the dawning of a dreary day; there is no joy hiding in this grayness that speaks of the forming of perfect snow crystals. This sky warns of coldness and wetness and misery.

BAMorris

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Hard Frost

08 Feb 2015

2/6/15

Hard Frost

The sky was perfectly clear this morning at 5:30. When I stepped onto the field across from my house, it was as if I was the connection for some unseen circuit. With each step I took, hundreds of tiny lights flashed. Each movement I made revealed a new wave of flickerings. It was as if there were thousands of tiny pieces of glass scattered across the field reflecting the moon’s glow back at me. Walking was surreal, like I was strolling across the stars yet on the ground.

BAMorris

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Peal in the Sky

08 Feb 2015

2/5/15

Pearl in the Sky

The moon was a perfect pearl hanging in the sky: a flawless and glowing orb. It seemed like a giant pendant waiting for some grand lady to take it down and drape it across her bosom.
Some monstrous clam in the ancient past, swimming in the oceanous sky, had been irritated by the roiling clouds and the wailing winds, until it coated the surrounding disruptions with fluids from its huge body again and again until it formed the moon.

BAMorris

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Walking With the Wind

22 Dec 2014

12/11/14

Walking With the Wind

I went for a walk with the wind this morning. We played tag. Wind would push me from behind, and then blow away. It did no good to try to tag him back: he was too fast. We chased a leaf down the road, trying to catch it, but it always stayed just a skip in front of us.
And as I walked back up the road heading home, every time I pulled my coat’s hood over my head and around my face, Wind would push it off. It became a battle of on-my-head, off-my-head between us. Finally I laughed, threw up my hands, and said, “I give up!” To which he whistled and stopped battering me with his cold breath.

BAMorris

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Leaf Play

22 Dec 2014

12/13/14

Leaf Play

A leaf quivers at my feet and then skips down the road in front of me. It appears to want to play. Perhaps a game of tag. A race. Or just share in my morning walk.
I wonder if, so newly removed from its mother tree, it still has some small memory of being alive. I wonder if, finding itself able to move unfettered by its union with the branch from which it was born, the leaf suddenly wants to run and tumble, and dance joyously before it dies and ceases to be.

BAMorris

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