Posts Tagged porch

20­°F — you still get hungry.

Winter is officially here when Garrison Keillor offers his annual celebration.

The weather, he says, is making a serious effort to kill you,
and that’s clarifying, it strips away non-essentials.

Your job is to stay alive.
You’re not a waitress or a plumber or a professor.
You’re a mammal.

There’s no distinction by class or talent,
there’s not even gender, if you’re dressed properly.

I found a warm blooded neighbor, well-dressed, a couple days ago,
emptying the birdfeeder on the back porch.
He didn’t mind the porch light, didn’t mind the bedroom overhead light,
not even the swivelling bedside lamp.

But my flashlight, and my presence,
just two 1/8″ sheets of glass and 1/4″ of inert gas between us,
that gave me enough light for a picture
and made him feel unwelcome.

He descended, backwards,
like a white bronco in a slow chase.


I told him he could stay,
if he’d just take off the mask.

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From my porch …

I can see the internets.
IMG_20150510_192629399_HDRThey’re above the ridgeline, just over the trees.
IMG_20150510_192615011They gather at the disk,
IMG_20150509_183732880_HDRconsent to capture, then descend
IMG_20150509_183704040_HDRto the router cable.

Now I’ll flip the flow and transmit my post
past every frumious bandwidthsnatch.

Good night, Gracie.

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Blair reflects.

Shadows at play.

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Sun’s in the notch.

When everything is just right, even the stone hinges have to open.

Porch alignment, south.

Looking south.

Above the back door, the carving says 1976, Dan did it, one of the years we built this house.

Porch in alignment, north.

Looking north.

But, 38 years on, I never knew it could do this, this specific shadow trap thing.

Where have I been?

So glad that I’m here now.

Shadows at play.

Blair reflects.

Come and sit a spell.

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