Friday, October 31, 2014

Happy Halloween 2014!

The temperature dropped into the mid-twenties this morning. Even with a warm jacket I could feel the cold when I walked the dog. Tonight we'll have more of the same under a waxing, gibbous, first quarter moon that shines (maybe under scudding clouds?) on the Trick or Treaters and other creatures of the night. All of those whose blood still flows warm had best bundle up. Although some Minnesotans are invigorated by this kind of weather, I'm grateful to have a warm home to come in to from the cold.
I'll ply the fire with kindling now
I'll pull the blankets up to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out and
I'll bolt my wanderings in

Joni Mitchell ~ Urge for Going
Jack-o-lanterns from years past
Jack-o-lanterns from years past
Photo by J. Harrington

Over at the St. Croix River Association they've announced the winners of this year's photography contest. The Starlit River winner, with the details of how it was taken, definitely inspires me to try more night photography. It's also a treat to see that there are river otters around. From the playing around with my camera that I've done so far, to have something worthy of entry next year will require much more familiarity with my equipment than I have at the moment. I occasionally get a really nice shot but it's by relying more on luck than skill. Or is that the secret ingredient for a long and happy life?

No matter how skillful or lucky I may get with a camera, I don't ever expect to photograph anything like the spirit Katie Capello helps us see from the "other side." RIP all!

A Ghost Abandons the Haunted

By Katie Cappello 

You ignore the way light filters through my cells,
the way I have of fading out—still
there is a constant tug, a stretching,
what is left of me is coming loose. Soon,

I will be only crumbs of popcorn,
a blue ring in the tub, an empty
toilet paper roll, black mold
misted on old sponges,

strands of hair woven into
carpet, a warped door
that won’t open, the soft spot
in an avocado, celery, a pear,

a metallic taste in the beer, a cold sore
on your lip—and when I finally lose my hold
you will hear a rustle and watch me spill
grains of rice across the cracked tile.


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