Night Sweep

Unintentional delay.

Click-stream rip tide.

Well by feline feeding time.

Sunless cold, cradled in the dark.

Really should have.

How about just not?

Morning would be meaner.

Not the way to start a day, unless it can’t be helped.

Brain-freeze and should-have bantering,

brooming sets and drifts.

Airborne, played by wind, curtain-carried white.

Slippery banister, lights just right.

Gusted hostas, sculpted ice.

A pocket phone for fear of falling.

Over-ridden, night-cast calling:

melodic whistling, otherwise quiet,

sharpened sculptures by layers and last,

hint back to warmth, pretty in the past.

So gorgeous in present.

Advantages exist for shoveling at night.

A fashion-less show, weather demanded:

bull’s eye red coat, Michigan-Michelin style.

Plus puffed purple gloves, hounds-tooth & hemmed hat.

Photo-ops. No qualms, anymore.

Can’t order pizza, if there’s no path to the door.

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partiality and perspective

 

My silly little cell-phone screen glares, making it hard for me to see what I’m trying to capture. My recourse is changing perspective and hoping for the best.

So, I bob and weave; step left, step right. Circle, bend, squat. Without fail, I find myself trying to figure out how I’m going to rise up without obliterating my knees or balance without plopping on my butt.

These five were an unsure series. None centered right. None captured the whole.

I spend a lot of time thinking about the disappointing gaps. What happened between the funeral pants and Thursday? I must have walked the dog; fed the cat. Fed myself; maybe not. Showered? Dressed? Yes, I’m sure, for the uncertainty of next. Were we done until Friday? Did I need to be somewhere?

I suspect there’s an unimportance in these gaps.

It irks me, though. This two-day series of uncaptured moments, and imbalanced partial pictures.

Quote for the Week: 2020 05 05 perspectives perfection is a difficult art jakorte

to be happy with the memory

 

when the barriers say “don’t go there.”
when the filters don’t make it better.
when cold morning colors hard stop the norm.
when the wind denies still life capture.
when edits are not improvement.
when the shot delays arrival and it doesn’t matter.
this is the thing worth knowing –
time stopped for a reason, true and unknown,
sometime later, sometimes much, a slipped swipe
a thumb-hold too long, a scroll too far, percolates a path
for pictures, dropped from above, gathering thunderous steam
landslides lose landmarks, boulders block intentions,
revisits are hard to resist.
temptation to tamper that
which does not require change, for comfort
is unneeded. it’s just an accidental detour, a temporary stay
to be happy with the memory, only requires
the desire
to be.

Quote for the Week: 2020 02 04 finding formerly forgotten photos is one of life jakorte

 

 

Around the Corner

I didn’t have to listen to AC/DC on the way home, either, but, I happily did.

Jeff was asleep before we even made it to the highway, not five minutes away. I was tired, too, so high-energy, head-banging was necessary.

It’s hard to fall asleep while scream-singing. Actually, I’ve never fallen asleep singing. I’ve never fallen asleep eating, for that matter.

Multiple trips from Nashville to Michigan, and back, were always well stocked. Eating M&M’s one at a time. Munching mini pretzels. Chocolate covered raisins, only on the overnight drives, to avoid messy melt.

Anyway, I had no food stuff for this short trip. I wasn’t hungry anyway, because we’d eaten. But, I did have Jeff’s chosen music that, historically, sounded best played loud. So, that is what I did.

Jeff slept through. He didn’t stir when we slowed. He didn’t notice when exiting where Interstate 94 meets US 223.

There were a few, follow-the-roadway-to-the-right, definite stay-awake curves to navigate on our usual route home. I’ve been looking at a map to try and match the terrain and the place logic.

It might have been near the Slee Highway intersection, or, might have been Gilbert Road – a little further down. I’d have to drive it again to be sure. Maybe, I’ll do that on some future western-to-northern excursion, just to pin point the memory.

If he’d been awake, Jeff would have probably launched into his habit of mimicking NASCAR announcers. “A- rrrround the corner we gooooo!” Jeff (also, sort of often) used the saying to express the notion that I’d cut a street corner a little close, for him.

Fair enough, since I almost amputated his already bleeding leg, that time I pulled into Herrick Hospital. Silly enough, even though he was totally zonked out, the lovingly familiar, would-be comment, floated around in my head.

It popped up out of nowhere on the approach; a double rainbow, though there hadn’t been any rain. At least, none that we drove through. Travelling 55 mph, in the time it took me to second glance, the sight had significantly changed.

I pulled over abruptly, but Jeff didn’t budge. I called out. I shook his shoulder. I yelled, and pushed some more.

Panicked, but not sure why, I resorted to louder stimuli. I blew the car horn three times, in quick succession, then, let one long loud one linger.

That sort of worked.

Quote for the Week:2019 08 12 It’s funny how the things people say linger jakorte