Foxglove Moments

Foxglove Moments

January 4, 2015

 

 

It's a balmy 36 degrees Fahrenheit here--

 

 

 

 

 

 

That's 2 degrees Celsius for friends
in Australia and Japan,

 

 

 

 

and 275.37 K (on the Kelvin scale)
for family in LaCenter--

shirtsleeve weather after this past week, where the squirrels took turns ice skating on the frozen birdbaths.

 

 

 

December 30, 2014

 

Approaching the close of another year.

They seem to come more quickly the older one gets.

(What? Already? Again?)

It's a common observation for those who have lived this long:

Time continues to expand endlessly, then at some point collapses

into a day, or a life, or a moment.

And there is no time,

only memories...

endlessly.

September 28, 2013

On my desk, facing me, sits a Buddha from the Thai Kingdom of Ayutthaya (mid-1300s to 1767), a gift from a friend, Stephen Houser, who collects cultural artifacts. I have probably looked at it over a thousand times.

And then one day as I was writing at my desk, the late afternoon sun poured in through the window and literally cast the Buddha in a new light.

I glanced up and was stopped, transfixed as he seemed to emerge out of the shadows of the distant past.

With a shiver I realized that I was gazing into the face of someone from the 18th century.

 

 

December 18, 2014

 

 

Years ago, a friend who had emigrated here from the Midwest to be with his girlfriend would complain about the Northwest's "pissy little winters."

Of all the seasons, he missed most the full-strength winters of his native Minnesota--and days of bright sun on bright snow. He never could adjust to the glum drabness of the Pacific Northwest at this time of year.

And yet, if one looks, there are striking dashes of color on this gray palette.