Picture This

The morning was blue, as I took my sister into town at 5:45.  The sky, the mountains, the trees, the road, were all a soft, smoke, blue.  And against the blue shone the white street lamps, strangely symbolic, as though, in that barely waking world they belonged more to to the fey, night creatures, than to men.

I remember another morning, a pink morning, when my father was driving me to visit my grandmother in the hospital.  Then, the street lamps were golden, and the pavement a warm grey.  I sat with my grandmother until noon, but I never told her about the dawn.

There was also a black sunrise, on the Dakota plains.  We had slept in the car, too tired to set up camp, and had woken early from the cold.  A narrow line of brilliant silver separated the black sky from the black plains, and far above us, to the right, a single planet hung.  The last star before day.

These pictures go with me, wherever I go.  I can close my eyes and see them, and remember how I felt, and what they mean to me.  I have a photograph of the black sunrise, but I never look at it.  There is a part of sight which cameras cannot capture.  A sense of completeness.  And that part, the part I prize most, fades each time I look at a photograph of the event.  Photographs are not memories, and they are a very poor substitute.



Ideas can become reality very quickly for me.  I did not plan, three hours ago, to start a blog this evening, although I had been thinking about it for weeks.  It simply felt like an evening meant for creating blogs, and so, here it is.

This is a rambling blog.  I have already got a serious one, too serious sometimes.  This blog is a sitting at an overlook watching the sunset sort of blog.  I have no particular schedule or agenda, and I’m not worrying about tomorrow.  I am simply thinking about things I like to think about.  Please drop by and say hello, whenever you feel like it, I don’t own the sunset or the overlook, I am just borrowing them for a time.