Thursday, March 22, 2018

An embarrassment of riches Or Creative excess



A slice of whole wheat bread,
fresh and warm from the oven -
why, a man might live by just that alone.
But butter might be better
and apricot jam …
… and now this just in:
my wife went and made those ridiculous cupcakes again.
Just the overwhelming scent of chocolate
would make a grown man drool.
And then when I took the first bite I nearly swooned.
Chocolate – rich, light-textured, dark chocolate - 
and just the cake would have been quite enough.
But then she had filled in the centers of the cupcakes
with a gooey dark chocolate ganache.
I mean a man couldn’t lick his fingers fast enough.
Well that, dear reader, really should have been that.
But no! Then she topped those ridiculous cupcakes
with a ridiculous buttercream frosting.
Absurd.
Bonkers.
Crazy.
I had to go for a walk.
I mean, a man might lose his mind.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.
Life is embarrassingly rich.
Ludicrously luscious,
and that’s still just this one man’s opinion
about the butter on the bread.
Forget about cupcakes!
Just give me a glass of cold water
and a slice of fresh bread
and I’ll just sit contentedly on my front porch swing
Maybe I’ll just nod off for a bit.
Truly, this is all too ridiculous for words.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

The circling of life




As I walked across the Kaw River Bridge,
I saw birds flying.
There were seagulls and pigeons –
and there was one lone Bald Eagle flying above it all.
They flew in circles, but hardly perfect circles.
Maybe spirals in and spirals out.
Mostly the birds flew round and about.
Maybe a little dipsy doodle now and then.
I couldn’t really tell you much more about that than this:
the birds turned and turned and turned yet again,
dividing time and space
and leaving no visible trace –
quite unlike the jet airplane far overhead,
flying straight into the setting sun.

Thursday, March 8, 2018

Seagull launch




As I looked out, I saw a tight cluster of bright white dots against the tan of a sand spit. Seagulls rested several hundred yards away from me on the far side of the island just downstream from the Kaw River Bridge. In the time it took for me to look away and then back again, they were all airborne. In some quite distinct pattern, random and ordered, the seagulls all flew away from where I stood, flying downstream. They were well-spaced apart, yet flying together, bright white wings cutting through the air against a gray-shadowed river.

I had missed it. I had missed the very moment of their launch. I had simply not been watching for the signal for what might have been the last seagull launch of the season.

Still, looking again downstream, I followed the gulls’ flight as they ascended, smoothly, gracefully upward, bright white wings fully extended. And then they all turned in an easy circle and angled back upstream, settling like sprinkles of bright white salt on dark rocks in the shallow gray water. The gulls had come back to rest not much more than fifty yards from where they had taken off a minute or so ago.

Then I saw that a few gulls had separated themselves from the flock and flew up and over the bridge where I stood watching. The wind caught their wings and turned them, but the gulls turned again and headed, determined, into the wind. Perhaps it was their task to report to mission control that the practice launch had been successful and the gulls were fully prepared, ready for the final takeoff into the great beyond.

But I could not tune into the seagull’s frequency. I was merely a distant observer. I would likely miss the next launch as well.

The wind tugged at my jacket and I turned and headed into March.

Thursday, March 1, 2018

Flyover




A friend and I had been walking along the river when we came to where the levee trail meets the Kaw River Bridge and paused to look back at the river. Several dozen geese must have been startled up into flight from where they had been resting on the river behind the Bowersock hydroelectric power plant. Not knowing that we were there, the geese flew sharp around the corner of the building, directly towards the space between the bridge and the levee where my friend and I were standing. 

With no time to change their course, the geese flew towards us in some disarray, fast and close, just over our heads, wings beating hard against the air. We – and several geese - were nearly eye to eye for just a few seconds. And then, just as quickly, the geese had dodged past us and had banked back towards the river over on the other side of the bridge. There they came back together from their moments of individual frantic flight and formed up into their characteristic ‘V’ formations. The geese flew steadfastly away, heading north.

My friend and I crossed the bridge, heading home.