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Archive for the ‘Reflections on the everyday’ Category

Blizzard

A distance drive on a stormy day.  Horizontal snow blows across the road from the right, changing direction midstream.  Roadway breathes with snaking, vaporous snow, flowing before my car like a tide.  Mesmerizing.

Wind hits from the left, the entire works blows into opaque cloud as an oncoming semi passes within feet.  Zero visibility.

Flat light, socked in storm, taillights obscured by snow.  Drift after drift, snow headed to earth. No where to go but forward–or off the road.

On a sunny day, driving this road is thoughtless.  Wild but still beautiful, this side of Nature commands full attention.

Home again, garage door closing slowly shuts out the storm.  Glad to be inside looking out.

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On walkabout.  Misty day, saturated colours, melted snow.

Rounding down a street, two pieces of a sectional couch wait patiently by the curb.  Trash day, on their way out.

Next door, a big screen television of relatively recent vintage eyes its prospects as it too accompanies a trash can.

A few more paces and an elderly woman friend stops her car to talk to me.  Just back from an ultrasound, some problems, hoping it is nothing.

On the seat by her purse is a tidy bag of plastic Christmas cookie cutters.  Small talk finds its way there.  She does not make cookies anymore and neither apparently does her daughter.  Do I want them? Fond of such things, I readily accept and thank her.

Hopefully we will know about the ultrasound soon.

Of things that wait patiently.  Once new, the future of these things is now not so clear.  The cookie cutters will soon mingle with their kind, holding much more than the shapes they represent.

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From a distance they are startling.  Brilliant ornaments bob on the breeze from twisted charcoal colored branches. Two trees, one dressed in red, the other in gold.  Smooth round color against leafless gnarled stems creates a visually festive feast.

On closer look, the ground is strewn with ornaments. Apple trees.

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We take time out to bring you this public service announcement:

On walkabout last week, lost in thought on a lovely day, I had the misfortune to be jumped by what appeared to be a Pit Bull Boxer mix dog. This post intends to offer ideas about aggressive dogs and what you might do if threatened by one.

Too many people across the United States are attacked, bitten and sometimes fatally mauled by Pit Bull mix dogs.  About 1.7 million people are bitten each year by dogs of all kinds and approximately 800,000 require medical help.  From experience I can say it is surreal to turn and find the snapping jaws of an angry animal within inches of your face.

While begging the pardon of those who enjoy Pit Bull mix dogs, they seem to follow in the footsteps of other dogs kept for their cachet of danger including Doberman Pincher, Rottweiler and wolf-hybrid dogs.  Although I generally agree breed-specific legislation is a bad idea because it targets dogs and not the habits of owners, it must also be said Pit Bull mix dogs are bred to fight.

There is no such thing as a registered American Kennel Club Pit Bull dog.  Pit Bull dogs are a mixed lot, some small, some large.  Cross-bred with Terriers, Boxers or Bull dogs, there is no standard of the breed nor generally expected temperament and tendencies.  Possessing the musculature and jaws of a Bull dog or Boxer, along with the aggressive and changeable nature of Terriers, the resulting dog is physiologically intended for action and attack.

That said, history has it that they can be loveable, gentle dogs with the proper breeding, socialization and training, and I believe this is likely the case.

The dog that jumped me stood about 5’3″ on its hind legs.  It jumped on me repeatedly, as if to try and knock me down, but did not bite me, for which I am grateful.  Big, agile and aggressive, it jumped on, and at me for what seemed an hour, but was probably about five minutes.

In response to its sudden appearance and attack, I stood still and looked the other way.  Jumping on me from all sides, I tried to keep my back to the dog, but otherwise made no movement and no sound.  I did not make eye contact.  I believe this response may have made a difference in whether it bit me – -or not.

It is difficult to remain still when there is a dog of that size and state jumping on you,  hard not to react in either a frightened or defensive way.

When the owner finally appeared, the dog continued to jump until pulled off of me by force.  The owner apologized, explained it was a puppy and they were working with it.  Explaining carefully it was not personal, I said I appreciated the apology but would  follow up on the incident.

I contacted Animal Control who responded they would visit the premises, speak with the owners and let them know about local ordinances and state laws on the matter.

If it had to happen, it is good it happened to me.  My neighborhood is a lovely place to walk for folks of all ages.  Many young mothers and toddlers walk this place, as do the elderly.  I do not know any mother who would stand still as a dog jumped on their toddler, or stroller.  The resulting defensive action may, or may not, have set this dog off.  With luck, the owners of this dog received an important message and act accordingly.

If you walk, watch your neighborhood, know where the dogs are.   Loose dogs of any kind are generally prohibited in most municipalities.  For good reason.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming…

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Peerless blue day driving east, sky brightening, sun not yet risen.  Clear cantaloupe colored horizon, scattered shooting stars of short airplane contrails falling like fireworks.

Later in the morning, setting out trash at the curb.  Skyward two contrails form an intersection the height of the sky, dwarf the earth, impossible to miss.  Marks the spot, so near, so far…we are all here, just now, in time.

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Do you see it?  The trees are stirring, shrugging in strong breeze, coloured leaves drift down, only to whip upwards, their journey uncharted.  This realm is browning, rich russets, gold and purple hues spread thickly where the greenwood grows.

 Do you hear it?  The wind has gathered confidence, pulling at homes, across waves, pushing on those who resist.  The gaps in windows and doors give wind voice, easy to believe it is speaking to you.

 Darkness and decay, wind that tears, these things frighten humans, with good reason.  They speak of impermanence, of what seems solid but is not.  Restless landscape, few times speak to the transitory nature of life better than emergence in spring and descent in autumn.

 The Celtic autumn is at an end.  Come October 31, the festival of Samhain (“Sow-in”) celebrates the beginning of the Celtic winter.  With November 1 comes the new Celtic year.  Apropos that winter births the New Year, as all things Celtic begin in the dark.

 There is code in the wind, uniquely translated by each soul, shaped by age, experience, wisdom. Howsoever you cast your eye on that which cannot be articulated creates the image that draws toward you.  You are the world you see—a promise, a gift and a curse—or more simply, what you see is what you get.

 There is no hell as great as that which humans create for themselves right here on earth.  Hell was never the ground of Samhain.

 Do you understand it?  Warmth in the darkness, wildness on the wind, things are as they should be.  What is chaos but creation?  As things end, others begin, impermanence a force to be counted upon, not feared.  Samhain greetings to you and yours.

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It has been just about a year since Longshot, a late season Monarch butterfly I once knew.

Brought inside from freezing November cold, Longshot emerged from its chrysalis too late, with stiff wings.  Passing on amidst fine fresh cut flowers and greenery, Longshot had a view of a sky he or she never touched.

Buried under the milkweed in my garden, I have visited Longshot as the winter and my legal ordeal wore on.  Spring and summer came, with some luck the worst part of a high conflict custody matter is behind me.

Come autumn, the garden is again a riot of bursting seed pods, crimson grass, yellow leaves, azure and purple sage.  Color to rival summer in every way, hummingbirds only now trailing away.

The spell of autumn is different, tales of things that come to pass, like Longshot, or custody trials and the ill they weave, decaying in their time.

Though globally, monarch populations continue to decline,  more visited my garden this season than any year prior.

Here is to you Longshot, for the will to live in the toughest of times and the heart to come again in the spring, eternity is yours.

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Apparently having seen enough, the road closed its eye.  The googly eye is gone.

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On walkabout, I came around the corner and spied the statuesque trees that line the north side of my property.

The youngest of the three is almost the height of its neighbors, and like my son who planted it from a maple helicopter, lacks only in girth.  The other two, red and yellow maples respectively, resided here before we.

Deep inside each tree I notice autumnal colours near the trunk, yet hidden except for those looking.

They say beauty is only skin deep, and in some instances, perhaps it is true.  But like the brilliance of those just turning leaves, for those that can see?  I think beauty more often starts on the inside.

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Looking south just yesterday, the googly eye is now glancing northward.  Given the expanse of that roadway is north-south, this parallel movement may mean something…or not.  I will keep you posted.

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