30 minutes
neighborhood
34 degrees / mist-drizzle
An afternoon walk with Scott and Delia. Gray, mild, misting. Some ice on the sidewalk, few cars on the road. Walking on Lena Smith Boulevard, looking over the hill and down into the gorge, I said, that looks so pretty, then realized it probably didn’t to anyone else. The view was gray sky, brown trees, rusted leaves, and the feeling of a river beyond it — a flash of a car or a runner traveling through the tunnel of trees. Scott said, it’s peaceful, but I wouldn’t call it pretty. At first I agreed, but then I decided it did look pretty to me.
A low-expectations Christmas. RJP made gifts for all of us: for Scott, a dark gray hat with yellow trim; for me, a neck warmer in green with a purple stripe; for FWA, light gray mittens. Beautifully crafted. We had a nice dinner, then watched Die Hard for the first time since it came out in 1988. Loved it — even though I could only see about half of it. Scott and I agree: a new tradition.
in the morning
Another Christmas is here. I’m sitting at the dining room table while everyone else is still asleep or hiding out in their rooms. Looking for something, I decided to search through my Safari Reading list — it’s the main way I save links. Found Dorianne Laux’s “Ode to Gray” at the bottom. Very cool! I love this poem and the idea of creating a list of all of the things of a certain color that are meaningful to me.
Ode to Gray/ Dorianne Laux
Mourning dove. Goose. Catbird. Butcher bird. Heron.
A child’s plush stuffed rabbit. Buckets. Chains.
Silver. Slate. Steel. Thistle. Tin.
Old man. Old woman.
The new screen door.
A squadron of Mirage F-1’s dogfighting
above ground fog. Sprites. Smoke.
“Snapshot gray” circa 1952.
Foxes. Rats. Nails. Wolves. River stones. Whales.
Brains. Newspapers. The backs of dead hands.
The sky over the ocean just before the clouds
let down their rain.
Rain.
The seas just before the clouds
let down their nets of rain.
Angelfish. Hooks. Hummingbird nests.
Teak wood. Seal whiskers. Silos. Railroad ties.
Mushrooms. Dray horses. Sage. Clay. Driftwood.
Crayfish in a stainless steel bowl.
The eyes of a certain girl.
Grain.
Oh, and the absolute first thing I have saved on my reading list is a wonderful poem from Tomas Tranströmer (love his poetry!):
After Someone’s Death./ Tomas Tranströmer
Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, pale, shimmering comet’s tail.
It shelters us. It makes the TV images fuzzy.
It settles in cold droplets on the power lines.
You can still shuffle along on skis in the winter sun
through groves where last year’s leaves hang on.
Like pages torn from old telephone books—
all of the names swallowed up by the cold.
It’s still pleasant to feel the heart beating.
But the shadow often seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armor of black dragon scales.
it makes the TV images fuzzy / you can still shuffle along on skis / last year’s leaves / the shadow often seems more real than the body — so many lines that speak to me!