In search of story


May 8.20: Coping

Sometimes perfect form

is jarring to the brain,

absolute alignment

inhospitable, profane.

A disordered kind of order

comes with emptiness;

we’re healthier by far

with a little bit of mess.



This, dear reader, is not an argument for opening up

before we are medically ready,

but only my commentary

on what is.


More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.



March 28.20: Coping

I seem to remember

when every grown-up

would sip something vile

from an everyday cup;

with cute little handle

and familiar old chip,

it was frequently clutched

in morning death grip.

I hadn’t yet learned

the elixir brew

was what made the sun rise

and enabled virtue.

But learn it I did

and in the meanwhile

the mug came along

in new sipping style.

Each mug a billboard

devoted to brevity,

graphics and text

mixing java with levity,

it warms our cold hands

not to mention our hearts,

so here’s to the mug

and the lift it imparts!



Lifting my mug this morning to you, dear reader,

with wishes for you and your loved ones:

may you be safe!

Saluting also photographer S.W. Berg

and coffee mug aficionado D.J. Berg!





Leave a comment

Connections: November 23

Vernon Hill - 16 - 2015-10Many years ago

we walked a common way

through hallowed halls of high school,

 teenage day-to-day.

That was then and this is now;

our ways are long asunder.

But here and there we’ve grabbed an hour

be-robed, betimes, to wonder

where we’ve been and who we are

how life is still aborning,

and we know the richest cuppa

is friendship in the morning.

More thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.

And thanks to D.J. Berg for all those early morning summits.



Carved in stone

Was this my first mistake? I called them Grandma Bunny and her grandbunnies, and thought they were cuter than Thumper.SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA

But I might have been wrong. Maybe not so cute. Who knew rabbits could read?

There are two. Naturally. They interrupt my breakfast with their own. One has good instincts and runs when I appear, stalking in dew-slimed slippers, and armed with my morning coffee. (It is good to be afraid of me before I’ve had morning coffee.) The other stares at me until I get close enough for him to smell the coffee. Then he runs. But only far enough to make me walk more. And so incrementally I escort him to the fence, where he stops to throw a humph over his shoulder before he squeezes under and heads off to other smorgasbords.

I surmise he is the one who thinks he is invisible when he flattens himself into the grass. His mama forgot to teach him to pull in those ears. Seriously, rabbit, do you think I can’t see you?

One morning my rabbit check stunned me: they had disguised themselves. Obviously they were on to me. SANYO DIGITAL CAMERA

But I was on to them. I replaced my apparently delectable painted daisy with a bristly rudbeckia. When I heard the loud puh-TOO-ey the next morning in the pre-dawn dark, I knew I’d had my revenge. Take THAT, wretched rabbit!

Last week there was a rustling in the shadow of the chives. When I approached, a bunny took off. Small enough to hide in the herbs, it nimbly darted among the thickets of zinnias and geraniums as I woefully reflected on this new generation of gluttons. Their revenge on me.

I am now looking for a garden ornament that features a recipe for hasenpfeffer.