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Category Archives: Ponderings on the Meaning of Things
Black Holes and Empty Nests
Life is full of surprises, some of them pleasant. Even while you are engaged in routine business, the past can reach out and tap you on the shoulder to remind you of something pleasant among the shards of discarded memories. This week’s … Continue reading
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The King Is Dead; Long Live The King!
“People who believe that they are strong-willed and the masters of their destiny can only continue to believe this by becoming specialists in self-deception.” James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room “But I believe in my mask—The man I made up is me.” … Continue reading
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The First of November Comes A-Calling
My Sorrow, when she’s here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, the withered tree; She walked the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. … Continue reading
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The Relentless Grip Of An Undead War
The Vietnam War has been much on my mind of late. Being of a certain age, it is a continuing subject of interest even if it seems tired and trite to those much younger. And now I find that I … Continue reading
Posted in Politicians and Other Lower Life Forms, Ponderings on the Meaning of Things
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The Blessings of an Early October Day
It is early October in Humptulips County, and the trees have yet to begin turning color in earnest. Our neighbor’s birch tree is the only tree in the neighborhood to have already undressed for winter. It was in a hurry, as if a narcissist wishing … Continue reading
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Ruminating on the Virtues of Pure Cussedness
“Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated … Continue reading
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The Memory of Shadows On The Grass
Autumn has finally arrived in Humptulips County after several fitful starts. The rain has settled in for a several day stay, and while the grass is still tan and sere from the summer’s insistent sunlight, it will shortly return to its usual … Continue reading
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Memory, Hope, and Tradition
We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets, “Little Gidding” “My theme is memory, that … Continue reading
Posted in Our Place in the Firmament, Ponderings on the Meaning of Things
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Grave Digger
I dug a grave yesterday. I dug it deep in our woods on a wide shelf located in a grove amid the pines, down a hill from one of our fields. To get there, you must stoop and walk between … Continue reading
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The Well-Mown Field
Early morning solitary walks produce a sort of induced reverie. After all, there is little mental effort involved in putting one foot in front of another, other than that required to avoid holes or stones or to keep to your path. So the … Continue reading
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