Others

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Dysania!

Oh my word there’s a word for that? I have this. I’m sure it’s a disease. I love being up early & being the only one awake and about. It is a magical time of the day. The problem is that once I get out of that habit it’s very difficult to regain. This is my actual natural state—that of dysania. And it’s not an inherited one. I come from a family of early risers. I’ve always crossed this off to one of the seven deadly sins: Sloth. Oh slothful am I! And the victim of a state of being. *Sigh* But, would not an affliction by any other name smell as sour? (To paraphrase the Bard.)

grandeliquentwordof

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Interesting Literature

I found a new (to me) bookish website:  https://interestingliterature.com

My first attraction is the article on “22 Interesting Facts about Writing.” So I’ll be checking it out for a while. After all, to us bookies what is more interesting than things about writing or writing or reading or reading about writing? And today I just learned that my pal,  Friedrich Nietzsche was the first philosopher to ‘write’ on a typewriter. What a trend setter he was!

fountain-pen-writing

Posted on Facebook by Interesting Literature

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Nice Things Matter

https://youtube.com/watch?v=8UsYbProrac%3Fversion%3D3%26rel%3D1%26fs%3D1%26autohide%3D2%26showsearch%3D0%26showinfo%3D1%26iv_load_policy%3D1%26wmode%3Dtransparent

This one goes out to a brave and stoic girl I know. Courage by Villagers:

via Courage — Step Into The Nightmare

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Joy Comes In Fur

JuniperFoxThis is a fox called Juniper. She is the happiest, most vocal, and loving fox I’ve ever seen. She is a rescue with a special permit to keep. Her person is Willow Brooke, and she has a page on Facebook. This is also her photo of Juniper. She calls this the “Pancakes Squee face.” I look at this face and cannot help but feel some joy, and a skin-shiver of specialness.

And but then, this is the only place where fur should be special, bring joy, or anything like a skin-shiver, yes? Don’t you just want to hug and cuddle that creature? That special being that brings the gift of herself wherever she walks. Or runs. Or sleeps.

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Bridges & Photos & Poems

Crossing the Mississippi River from La Crescent, Minnesota, into La Crosse, Wisconsin.downtown-la-crosse-13-bridge-across-mississippi-riverThis photo posted by Audrey Kletscher Helbling on her blog, Minnesota Prairie Roots.

The bridge on the left is my bridge, the one we walked across to get from our place along the Mississippi river to the other side. Pettibone Park and the swim beach awaited there. In the park there was also a lagoon where we ice skated in winter.

The bridge on the right, the smaller bridge, was added a few years back so now each is oneway. I was shocked to see the added bridge the last time I was home. The bridges are not the same color and certainly do not match in style. What offense to my childhood!

The erasure poem posted here on March 7, 2014, is about the bridge and river and sand. It’s about this bridge and a child’s feet that walked there with the past and the future, singing with the ghosts of time.