Another Instructive Photo Failure

Abbo's Alley, late afternoon in summer. Hunched on the ground, a woman of a certain age, pointing a camera down toward the bank's edge. Darkness to the left and behind, bright light low on the right, bouncing off water. Rap music pounding a beat from a basement apartment at Alley's Edge, reverberating. 

Enter three walkers of a certain age, one woman, two men, each with a small dog -- one Yorkie, two Westies. They're talking. Only a few words are audible outside their group.

Yorkie Walker:  Some of the best writing I've seen. Two Chinese students. Never wrote in English till they came to the University. Just beautiful composition, so . . . .

A bit further into the Alley.

Female Westie Walker: George . . . ?

Yorkie Walker: Elliot?

Male Westie Walker:  Henry George Lewes!

Female Westie Walker: Yes, that's right!

Heading back later.

Yorkie Walker: You know what novel I'd like to read? One about her relationship with her father. Now that . . .

Woman photographer stands.

Photographer: D****t!

Photographer walks back to the path, is soon followed by the dog walkers.

This Alley reverberates still.

Autumnal Equinox

9:29 PM CT tonight.

But fall has already begun with wind, cool temperatures, and a profusion of browns, reds, and golds.

It even brought a migratory visitor to Lake Dimmick. Though I can't prove it (because he never lit where I could find him), a Twelve-spotted Skimmer blew through, teasing me three times, diving right toward me and then soaring upward.

Other evidence do, however, prove fall's glorious jewel-like colors and defining shadows.

Let the fun begin!

As If the Grass and Stone Were Pleased

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants - (1350)

BY EMILY DICKINSON

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants -

At Evening, it is not

At Morning, in a Truffled Hut

It stop opon a Spot

As if it tarried always

And yet it’s whole Career

Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay -

And fleeter than a Tare -

’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler -

The Germ of Alibi -

Doth like a Bubble antedate

And like a Bubble, hie -

I feel as if the Grass was pleased

To have it intermit -

This surreptitious Scion

Of Summer’s circumspect.

Had Nature any supple Face

Or could she one contemn -

Had Nature an Apostate -

That Mushroom - it is Him!

Five Good Things about My Nature Walk with My Young Friend Jonathan

1.
A giant exuvia (like a shed skin) of some dragonfly, a darner perhaps. Held to the light, the shell's translucence shimmers like gold-leaf over opal.

2. 
A patient Carolina Saddlebags, old and torn, let us snap, snap, snap, while he perched, darted off, circled, and perched again. When it was Jonathan's turn to approach, he showed me a new trick: distract the Odonate by shaking one hand held out to the side. Then, he said, you can get a good picture. He approached, he shook, and the dragonfly flew off.

I'm going to try that trick anyway.

3.
In the woods, he scooped up and pulled several mushrooms, one of which bled milk and oxydized pink: it's a Milky Mushroom, and it's beautiful.

4.

At the pond, I pointed out a Southern Sprite, pleased that I could introduce Jonathan to a new species.

5.
Jonathan's company. It's a good thing.

The Lesson I've Never Learned

All my life, I have been told, "Calm down" and "Lower your voice."

In the first week of first grade, I was sent to the hall for talking out of turn. When my brother's class walked by on the way to the cafeteria, he said, "There's my stupid sister." That's me, the stupid sister, I thought, and shrank into the wall.

An aunt once told me to "Quiet down" during a Christmas celebration. My niece and nephew stared at me, open-mouthed. I spoke not another word in her presence all night.

A brother used to tell me and his wife, "You don't have to shout," at the dinner table. Neither of us was shouting.

In college, the only time when my natural volume, resonance, and enthusiasm were accepted as a natural part of me -- and a good part, at that -- my friend Charley and I used to have a "projection contest" during theatre rehearsal breaks. We'd stand on the stage apron and speak toward the back wall of the audience. Both of our voices resounded, without effort, without shouting.

I thought about Charlie today and my own "intensity" when I saw this mushroom burning in the forest.

I suppose I should apologize.

But I can't: I am who I am.

Get Ready!

Shakerag is on the verge of bursting.

Buds obelisk up from mottled trillium leaves,

tiny mushrooms glow like butterscotch,

moss sporophytes shout their hello,

and water runs over rocks and round winter ice.

Get ready! I'm comin', Spring sings!

Chasing the Light

After rain,
morning sun
wavered -- now
gauze, then glass,
only fitful,
only brief. 

An odd time
for picture-taking,
making insect,
flower, fur,
water, sky
flattened blurs.

Even the sole
swallowtail
shivered; my
hands shook.

But the forest
floor flamed,
so I chased
fungal light.

 

Good Luck

Red mushroom: 
lacquered flame
licks a pine
needle rick,
pops open
a paper parasol,
glows golden.
Chinese lantern
of the forest floor.

Scarlet Cap

Toadstool or Mushroom?

I don't care!

After rain, the earth spoke fungus, and thus it was: red, chocolate, white, yellow, maroon toes and umbrellas and  awkward lumps, small and large, bumpy and smooth.

Whether toadstool or fungus, whether edible or poisonous, their variety and beauty deserve celebration.