The log museum

The dry place in a stream, © 2013 Celia Her City

I’m back in the city, but I may have to keep posting about nature for a while, because now the outdoors is changing almost before our eyes.  Every incarnation is fleeting and very exciting.  Even a long-dead log lying in a stream.

The log’s hollow is a museum of everything dead and dried out from the previous season.  The watery medium in which it rests is a registry of the present, its surface a living digest of the terrestrial, ethereal, and aquatic.

I happened to look down from a foot-bridge, that’s all.  The stream showed me two realities of a tree.

Where to begin

On the road: Pennsylvania

Last Tuesday, I voted when the polls opened, then got in the car and drove off alone to Pennsylvania.  My father was pretty sick and might have died, but he pulled through, recovering from a risky emergency operation.

I was glad I could be with my parents.  My sister from Boston came down and was magnificent when More

Through the Loop

Through the Loop

I’m in the middle on the worry spectrum, but I do worry about safety when I’m in my car.  I worry about getting into an accident as a result of not noticing some subtle danger around me.  Tuned-out pedestrians, taxis, delivery trucks, and cyclists (like this one disregarding the traffic signal), add to the challenges of a drive through the Loop.  The trains that periodically rumble overhead don’t help matters any.

That there are not more accidents surprises me, yet I’ve read that there were something like 2,500 accidents involving pedestrians last year.

Our Uncle Died

Our Uncle Died

Our uncle died, and we are deciding whether to go to Seattle to be with the family.

Suddenly, the death of our elders is implicating, in a way it wasn’t when I was younger.  As my mother said recently, when one of her last more senior relatives died, “Now we’re the old people.”  With every passing, the generations shift, and our place in the constellation of relationships loses something and takes on something new. More