Even a small fire can rekindled from pine needles dried cast away from their branches, half-burned wood cracked black and hollow overpower the sun as it fades beneath the horizon
casting light and bathing in warmth so too can love be rekindled from bits and pieces, half-burned memories blurred by time and distance until once again it is blinding it’s warmth untouchable it’s shape unknowable
How wonderful it would be to bathe in this fire with you until our embers ceased to glow and cracked black and hollow even a gentle breeze carries us and in bits and pieces spreads us far out across and back into everything where we can begin again
I made several images in Brooklyn the other day. I was most struck by this one which I’ve shared for you above. The quiet of it all. The rainy haze which slightly masks the city in the background. The chaos of the broken fence, the trash. The texture of the raindrops on the surface of the water. The barbed wire, with its nearly perfect circular pattern. It all seemed so poignant. As though it were shouting in silence. I’m not sure that makes sense. It isn’t a logical sentence, but I think it has all the right words.
The image has me working on a poem. My first planned poem, if you’d like to think of it that way. Usually my poems come to me, quietly or in a shouting manner and so I write them provided I have a piece of paper or my laptop nearby. I think the title will be called A City so Fiercly Loved. I’d like it to speak about the passion residents of New York have for their city. The spoken devotion and and loyalty they show to their respective boro. Yet when you walk around these places, you see that that love might not be as devotional as you might expect. When there is garbage and disrepair everywhere, how can you say a place is loved?
I’ve spent the past few days exploring Miry Run, which is a small, manmade lake along the Assunpink Creek close to where I live. It’s provided me with some beautiful moments of stunning light this winter season. Earlier today I even watched as two red-tailed hawks flew around and sounded their distinctive screeches.
This has become a favorite spot of mine and Shea, my recently adopted Pit/Hound mix. I walk her along the water’s edge on a long leash. I’m training her to be patient with me, as I often stop to make pictures whenever we are out walking. So far she behaves well, but does always want to be on the move.