Tuesday, September 29, 2015
We sat outside on our deck in the cricket darkness on Sunday evening watching the earth eclipse the moon. I have experienced a solar eclipse and several lunar eclipses in the past, but I had never seen a blood moon. I admit I was expecting something less in the citrus, fall gourd and bad tanner spectrum of color and more in the grisly murder or gloom and doom spectrum.
Even so, I was not disappointed. Though I understand the physical science of an eclipse and do not believe in its auguries, it always infects me with a sense of its mystique. There is something elemental in the movement of the spheres that lifts it beyond science.
And I know that I am not the only one who feels it. Just as the veil of earth's shadow dropped over the last splinter of light at the edge of the moon, in a distant corner of our neighborhood, a coyote lifted its face to the sky and howled; a long, haunting note that overwhelmed its wary blood and burst from its throat like a cry of hunger. The coyote howled again and again. Then, here and there, a dog barked in response; whether in sympathy or warning, I do not know. And, mad woman that I am, I howled back because it seemed the appropriate thing to do.
Sitting in quiet communion beside me, unruffled and even amused by my occasional quirks, my husband reminded me that there was a baby sleeping in the house next door.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
The Passenger has taken hundreds of photos of doorways. He also finds closeups of the hardware and doorjambs intriguing. This was taken in Paraty, a town on the coast of Rio. Of all his doorway photos from Brazil, I think I like this one the best. Maybe it is because, this time, I was with him when he snapped it.
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Jack Sprat could eat no fat
His wife could eat no lean
And so betwixt the two of them
They licked the platter clean.
I don't like bacon...except for the crisp, buttery bits at the ends and between the meat. My husband, on the other hand, loves bacon, especially the thick, chewy, meaty parts. It works well for us on the occasional mornings when we fry up a few strips to go with our eggs and toast for breakfast. I tear off the lean, jerky-like pieces of my bacon meat to give to my husband, and I often return to the table from rinsing a teacup or pouring a glass of orange juice to find a few choice tidbits of melt-in-your-mouth friable fat on my plate.
As I am often on the lookout for the gifts to be found in the commonplace and ordinary, I think it is sweetly romantic that my spouse shares the best of his bacon with me.
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
We sidled our way north for a picnic beside the shore to celebrate our anniversary a few weeks ago. Afterward, with the remnants of our lunch gathered up and stowed in the hamper, we dozed on our blanket in the shade of a sandbank and dreamed of other worlds.