Wednesday, March 22, 2023

Poem for Wednesday and Canal Bluebells

Gradually Then Suddenly
By Philip Schaefer

Flowers a dull pink and out of stories.

The clown in the middle of town
dances but only when the streetlights

go blank. Children puff through

the window in a way that makes their faces
an inner god. I have all these chairs

I cannot use. Only the belonging

they beg for. Consider a dead oven
then consider freedom. A heavy kite

could touch Jupiter if Jupiter existed.

Any child could become a swan
song. It doesn’t take long to weather.


Tuesday was a day of closet-emptying, children's book-sorting, and packing figurines in the original boxes I had saved at the back of the closet. Apparently I started a calculator swap in my neighborhood Buy Nothing group, since we had two TI-83s in the house. And if anyone local needs any Vera Bradley bags, please let me know. 

My Voyager group watched "Course: Oblivion" which is absolutely, utterly pointless and terrible, then Paul and I started watching Daisy Jones & the Six, which I'm enjoying enormously -- Riley Keough is wonderful and I love the music (and the Fleetwood Mac influences). Bluebells from along the canal over last weekend: 

2023-03-18 12.39.49

2023-03-18 12.40.13

2023-03-18 12.40.06

2023-03-18 12.36.19


2023-03-18 12.38.40

2023-03-18 12.35.01

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