Floating Leaves

Balloon, Holyoke Range, Doe

Tonight I had the strongest urge to go over to Amherst College, to gaze out across the baseball fields at the Holyoke Range.  I walked out of my apartment into the cool, sunny evening, looked up, and saw a hot air balloon high above Route 9.  Its patchwork of metallic fabric—yellow, red, purple, blue—slanted around the space above the basket in large blocks of color and seemed to glow in the setting sunlight. 

I got in my car, drove to the college, parked, walked up the walk to the look-out spot, sat down on the steps below the campus’s war memorial.  I looked for a long while at the shape of the Holyoke
Mountains, outlined against the sky.  I traced the curves with my eyes.  Then as I continued to simply look, suddenly the landscape’s three-dimensionality came into focus:  The athletic fields and row of trees in the foreground stood in contrast to the layers of hills and mountains beyond.  All seemed crisp, with great depth—surreal, as if I was gazing through a View-Master. 

As I got out of my car in front of my apartment (located across from Big Y on Route 9) I saw a deer exit the woods.  It was not more than twenty or thirty yards from me.  I stopped and it stopped.  We stared at each other for a long moment.  It was a small, pony-sized doe. 

The doe took a few steps to her right, took several leaves into her mouth from a hanging cherry tree branch.  She chewed.  I moved closer.  She stopped quick, cast a glance at me that turned into a hard, though friendly, stare.  Then she turned to her left and walked off in the direction of Route 9. 

Rose Silver Bell

I went for a walk with a friend around the Smith College campus last Friday and saw my first Rose Silver Bell (Halesia Carolina L.).  As a whole, the tree was in sad shape.  From a single trunk at its base, it had grown into a fork, the right side of which had been sawed off long ago.  Most of what remained showed little life.  The upper branches looked weathered and sick.  Still, I was called from the street by the most delicate flowers hanging from its healthier branches.  They hung straight down like tassels at the bottom of a Victorian lampshade or tiny ballerinas with enormous skirts.  “I’ve never seen this tree before,” I said, jumped the curb, and read the small metallic tag that hung from the trunk. 

On closer inspection, the tree’s bark had a lot going for it too.  Gray-brown with deep vertical grooves, it felt hearty and rough, the way a tree-trunk should feel.  The bark contrasts nicely with the dainty flowers hanging above.

According to hort.net, Halesia Carolinas are rare (I’d never seen one) because of their “relatively strict cultural requirements.”  An Appalachian native, the tree “likes a moist, well-drained location with a fair amount of humus.”  The specimen we found was growing out of a large triangular shaped patch of heavily mulched ground in the middle of the parking lot next to Smith College’s physical plant.  Rhodies and Witch Hazel surrounded it.  Those plants seemed to thrive in that location, while the Halesia Carolina struggled.  Later I wondered why the grounds-people chose to tuck such a fabulous tree where folks were likely to miss it. 

I’m looking forward to returning to the Halesia Carolina in summer when it’s fully leafed out and again in the fall to see it’s “four-winged” fruit.
 

Today's Haiku

I went for a walk today in Concord and wrote this haiku:

Sky reflected in
Puddles in fallow farm fields:
An early spring walk.

My Dog is my Copilot

On Sunday I was stopped at a traffic light behind a guy on a motorcycle.  Behind him was a large metal wire basket, as if he'd chopped a common shopping cart in half and welded another side onto it.  A yellow lab sat inside the basket on top of a cut-out carpet square---for the animal's comfort, I reckon.  A bumper-sticker on the motorcycle beneath the dog in the basket read:  "My dog is my copilot." 

The View From Atop Noanet

That right there is my buddy, Tim.  And what he's looking at, way off in the distance, is Boston--the Pru, the Hancock, and some of the city's other prominent features.  Here, maybe the buildings are a bit clearer in this image:

No?  Well then take a look at this cedar tree:

Globatron

Last winter, my friend, Byron King, interviewed me for his contemporary arts website JaxCal.  JaxCal is located in Jacksonville Florida and until recently focussed all of it's attention on the local contemporary arts scene there.  Well, JaxCal has now morphed into Globatron, a fresh, new, and ever expanding website that compiles stories and interviews about contemporary arts and artists.  There are now several writers in cities across the country--including Boston (covered by me)--who will interview local artists, describe happenings, and profile visiting artists.  To learn more about Globatron, check out the recent interview Byron did with Kara Pound of Jacksonville's alternative newspaper, Folio Weekly on Globatron's website.

Sour Skittles

The green
Sour Skittles
bag catches
orange sunlight
beside the brick
façade of
an old telephone
company.

Red Maple Seed

Admiring a red maple,
a Japanese beetle lands
on my pants:  Thoughts
of a dear, departed friend.

Orange River Monster

This photograph was taken near my apartment.  All summer they've been cleaning the greenery--water chestnuts, etc.--out of the Charles River with a giant orange floating machine that resembles a backhoe.   The large "paddleboat" has a mouth-like opening in the front that the surface plants slide into.  They then get deposited into a storage area at the rear.  The plant material is then loaded onto dump trucks and carted away.  (To read more about the project and the history of the invasive water chestnut, see the recent article in the Newton Tab by clicking here.)

"To pay attention is to love" --Sharon Salzberg