Downtown La Crosse (my hometown) a couple of nights ago. It seems the wind doesn’t discriminate—the damage of today in Cleveland is a match. Or a challenge. But it doesn’t matter, does it? If you’re in the way of some things, in the path that belongs to someone or something else, you’d best be sure that’s where you’re willing to stand. Or fall.
Barn Owl photo by Benjamin Joseph Andrew—A Room With A View
“Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.”
~ Rainer Maria Rilke; (1875–1896) Bohemian-Austrian poet
It’s a surprise and it’s so very pleasing. Rilke does that by changing from the expected (a child who begins to grow) to the art that is represented— the poem.
This abandoned church has been left mostly unharmed; its place is held secret so that others do not come to damage it. We must secure those things we love today behind closed doors, in secret hiding places. To keep the dream from the nightmare. What is America these days I so often wonder? We look to Europe and see standing the buildings from centuries ago, kept alive and secure. Not so the cemeteries of our youth, those places where grottos and statues and stations of the cross lived and spoke. Once. Now no more. Can there be a future? Can there be a future when there is no past?