A Tidings of Magpies

                   "Outside, it is cold, silvery, and suffused with a delicate milky haze. Gray hushed days follow each other, calling us to inner activity. Sitting by the fire or hurrying through the streets, our power of thinking grows. Filled with new ideas, we feel creative and courageous. Legend says, "words spoken in winter go unheard until next summer." This is the message from Janus, the old Etruscan god of the doorway, after whom January was named. Janus stands between past and future, new and old. He has two faces. One looks back, the other forward. His third face is invisible. This is the face of eternity, the present moment: NOW. Warmth settles around our hearts. Summoned to great deeds of right action and selfless love, Janus bids us pass through his gate." -- Christopher Bamford please note: photo is from Cincinnati Daily Photo. Apparently there was a once-in-a-lifetime, pheno...

                           "Every year about now, I feel the need to keep a journal...I walk past the blank books--gifts of nothingness--that pile up in bookstores this season, and I can almost hear their clean white pages begging to be defaced...if I do give in, this is what I have in mind. I want to count the crows in the field every afternoon. I want to record the temperatures, highs and lows, every day and measure the rain and snow. If a flock of turkeys walks into the barnyard, I want to mention the fact. If one of the horses throws a shoe, I want to say so, in writing, before I call the farrier; and I'd like to be able to tell from my journal just how many bales of hay I have squirreled away in the barn." --Verlyn Klingenborg For those among us who live more prosaic lives and don't have the cawings of crows to mark our mornings and even...

 I have not wanted to write much after my friend's death. Let me be honest, I have not wanted to think much. And I believe that's as it should be. Lord knows, the brain takes years to recover and heal and I imagine the soul does, too. But, I miss the magic I found in words. The unexpected placements and pairings. The rhythm of syllables. So, for me, 2013 will be a year of opening doors and telling the tales of what I find. Our squirrel's nest squirms and reassembles  beneath a winter's wind. ...Maybe...or  I could watch Big Bang Theory marathons...Bazinga! The Frogs After Dark by Robert Bly I am so much in love with mournful music That I don't bother to look for violinists. The aging peepers satisfy me for hours. The ant moves on his tiny Sephardic feet. The flute is always glad to repeat the same note. The ocean rejoices in its dusky mansion. Bears are often piled up close to each other. In caves of bears, it's just one ...