I used to be embarrassed to call these ridges mountains until I went to Mississippi and saw what they called hills.
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The end of October, and a dandelion is in full bloom beside the driveway. I recall that the Brits refer to dandelion seedheads as clocks. This one, when it appears, will be some six months slow.
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Three mornings ago I dreamt I was reading a new-to-me poet. I’m enough of a lucid dreamer that I know when I’m dreaming, most of the time, so I tried hard to memorize a few lines so I could claim them as my own when I woke. But I only managed to retain a single word: “apparatus.”
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Last night I dreamt I was writing a poem about that Chandler Harris creation the tar baby. Most of us are smarter than Br’er Rabbit, but also more foolish: we know it’s only tar, but we tangle with it anyway.
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We should wear masks 364 days of the year and only take them off for Halloween. That would be a terrifying revelation.
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I wonder how many members of think tanks have ever spent time in a drunk tank?
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The temperature’s right on the line between warm and cool. A fly walking on the windowpane staggers a bit as it crosses a white expanse of sky.
We should wear masks 364 days of the year and only take them off for Halloween. That would be a terrifying revelation.
This is one way of understanding the Jewish holiday of Purim. We all wear masks all the time, whether we acknowledge it or not. On Purim we have the opportunity, through intentionally masking ourselves, to reveal who we really are.
Interesting. I think this is what a lot of indigenous and traditional cultures would say about masks, too — that they can reveal something truer or more essential than our ordinary faces (which are also masks of a sort).
Yes, I was thinking that too — that we actually to wear masks all the time. On Halloween some people wear super-masks.
These are terrific, Dave.
Thanks, Beth.