The Purposeful Habitat.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
swallowtail, painted lady, great spangled fritillary
Amid'st the center of this hot clime, the butterflies in the gardens are busy drinking nectar from morning to night. They join the wasps, flies, and grasshoppers as the most conspicuous of winged insect species presently visible 'round and about the flowers, bushes, shrubs, and trees of the cottage grounds. Countless other insects roam afoot and aflight, but these shy specimens show themselves rarely, or else come out at night when I'm seldom looking.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
communal action to help native wildlife
The weeks pass so fast between the dawn of promise and the dusk of realization, between the hoped-for and the actual — that is, if you're one to let good ideas and sensible projects slide into the netherworld of the undone. Some call it procrastination. I prefer an admonishment: Lack of Will.
The Season Changes.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
sweet gum, silver maple, iris
Nature arrives at her conclusions . . . . well, quite naturally. Just a while back, it was autumn. Now it is winter. The dividing line between the two can be marked and measured in several ways, but the result is always the same. Something ends. Another something begins. And we human players of the Great Game are caught up in the transition.
The Season Changes.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
morning glory, rose of sharon, caladium
Once ago I sought to overcome sleep, seeing it as an impediment to accomplishment and success. The fewer hours I slept, the more I could devote to task-making and network building in service to the quest for money and power.
Pile of Puppies.
Monday, January 25, 2010
a rescue mission to Frenchman's Bayou
I'm sixty years and they're eleven weeks. It's a good balance. Crow's Cottage rocks with new life and awesome bursts of animal energy. Three puppies! It's hard to imagine, easier to accept. Compassion got the best of me at the moment of acquisition.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
a meditation inspired by Padre Island National Seashore in Texas
The sea is less joy, more melancholy — if one's mind is set in granite, one's sandaled feet tangled in strings of golden sargassum, one's countenance pensive and solitary.
The Coming of the O.
And the Hoboes, too.
Friday, January 23, 2009
the new president
We are isolated here at Crow’s Cottage. By that I mean we control, as best we can, given the limits of a solitary endeavor, the goings in and comings out of humans and ideas.
Hope Most Cruel.
Too Sandy the Foundation.
October 21, 2008
causes and solutions for mass murder at schools — Part 3
This won’t be pretty, not smoothly done. I’m navigating choppy seas today, trying to get outta this place. Everywhere I look are shadows on the swells of the deep.
Off the Snide.
The Necessary Pledge.
October 15, 2008
justification for prolonged silence in wake of a psychic flood
A half-year passes. Nothing. It becomes a thing slowing, a creeping thing, edging toward inertia.
Back to the Same Spoke.
May 1, 2008
the Arlington, Paris, and TM's "Death in Venice"
The old man becomes diaphanous, appears as a pale shadow slipping across the eaves in the early hours after the equinox. He is someone's necessary afterthought.
Save a Life Today.
April 1, 2008
causes and solutions for mass murder at schools — Part 2
Some days later, when the vigils are done, the candles snuffed, the bodies embalmed and cremated, the remains put away, the names of the lost ones inscribed on tombstones in the graveyard or on brass markers in the mausoleum — after all these sombre acts of the aftermath are put to rest, the story of the massacre fades from sight. Look and you might see shades of it in the far away drift of the downstream, see it fading fast in the ceaseless river of new event.
Love and the Destroyer.
February 20, 2008
causes and solutions for mass murder at schools — Part 1
The school teacher didn't want to think too long and too hard about evil, didn't want to dwell on it. Too much broody thought might mislead him into concluding that his race of women and men is done gone mad. But he knew the devil was out there, creeping about the land, searching for perpetrators.
Waiting for Water.
Under the Ancestral Quilt.
January 31, 2008
winter falls on Crow's Cottage
The crow is a messenger,
60 Hours Absurd.
Mouse, Rock, the Starlet.
January 15, 2008
blood sausage and the equivocals
I meditated the detached creature named Self into wellness this morn, then I became mad again. The day begins.
Wraiths and Doves.
Beyond the Vortex.
January 7, 2008
brokenness and dust fall upon the ways of the world
I turn over the hourglass. The white grains of sand begin to fall from the Heavenlies onto the Earth.
I Was Dead.
Gift of the White Stone.
December 14, 2007
my new name was engraved on the white stone
In the dream I was dead. I was glad when the phone rang to wake me. Have you ever been dead in a dream? What saving grace roused you? Do you ever want to give up? Do you hear the hoarse whisperers in the dead of night? Throw off the heavy weights of responsibility! Be done with it! These are commands from the destroyer, come to devour you.
Moon and Sun.
Who Has the Time?
November 1, 2007
in the forest, in the city
Some of THE OTHERS are pressed for time. To pause long enough to look at the waxing midnight moon, bright in the cold and cloudless sky, is an act of reflection too weighty for a driven mind to bear.
Into the Wilds.
Shelter in the Eternal Night.
October 18, 2007
walking the Butterfield Hiking Trail
My hike last week, brief though it was, raises many questions. The questions stop me in my tracks. I haven't been able to get past them to write this letter to you. Until now. Enough is enough.
Layers of Sound.
Language of Birds.
October 1, 2007
love and the warbling of doves
Buck and I, dog and man, prance like saddled horses, biting the bit in anticipation of the day's journey. Between us and the first step are issues of life. A rider can't be found on this pale morning. We remain stalled at the stable.
Music of the Streets.
September 19, 2007
change, looking back
I've wanted to write to you for some time and tell you about my trek up Sarah's Hollow beside the Mulberry with my best pal Buckaroo, tell you about friends and extended family, tell you about community and fellowship in the time of The Dissolution.
I See Good Things.
August 27, 2007
speculating on the meaning of a unique visitor
What do we see from the mainmast of Crow's Cottage, now that the die is cast, the classroom is a memory, and I'm fully committed to cyberspace again?
Lost in the Mail.
August 20, 2007
introducing the redesign of CornDancer
We were watching the mail for a report from Tupelo about the birthplace of Elvis, but it hasn't arrived yet. Just as well. There are other fish to fry here at Crow's Cottage, where the menu Special of the Day is the CornDancer web and its redesign.
Notices announcing the publication of each Letter from Crow's Cottage are sent by e-mail express to my list of family, friends, students, and fellow travelers. If you've come here by some other means than an e-mail invitation, and would like to receive notices, please write me so I can add you to the list. I share the addresses with no one but Godzilla the Atomic Road Lizard, who can't type and doesn't do e-mail.
The Journey Ends:
Shy and Wonderful:
An Easy Puzzle:
Sugar Hollow Road: