Categories
Photography Writing

Egrets

Where the path closed
down and over,
through the scumbled leaves,
fallen branches,
through the knotted catbrier,
I kept going. Finally
I could not
save my arms
from thorns; soon
the mosquitoes
smelled me, hot
and wounded, and came
wheeling and whining.
And that’s how I came
to the edge of the pond:
black and empty
except for a spindle
of bleached reeds
at the far shore
which, as I looked,
wrinkled suddenly
into three egrets – – –
a shower
of white fire!
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them – – –
tilting through the water,
unruffled, sure,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.

Mary Oliver, “Egrets”

 

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Categories
Photography Writing

Route 66

If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway, that’s the best.
Get your kicks on Route 66.

It winds from Chicago to L.A.
More than 2000 miles all the way,
Get your kicks on Route 66.

Now you go through Saint Louie,
And Joplin, Missouri,
And Oklahoma City looks mighty pretty, you’ll see…
Amarillo…
Gallup, New Mexico,
Flagstaff, Arizona,
Don’t forget Winona,
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino.

Won’t you get hip to this timely tip
When you make that California trip?
Get your kicks on Route 66.

As song by Nat King Cole…not the Rolling Stones version and definitely not the Depeche Mode version

 

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Lucky people — two photos! I can hear your modems groaning.

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Categories
Photography Writing

The Negro speaks of rivers

I’ve known rivers:
I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I’ve known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

Langston Hughes “The Negro speaks of Rivers”

 

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