Well, well, isn't this nice, dear?

Welcome to my natal anniversary present to myself. I turned 43 on Sunday, November 17, and I decided to splurge. So this, and a bottle of Laga Vulin Whiskey are my presents.

Now, how to begin? Well, I've been walking. And as I walk, things come to me. I observe. I reminisce. Or not, sometimes. Sometimes it's just sensations. But even those sensations find voice in word, and word calls to be written.

I get tired of writing to please others. I don't want to sound trite, or hackneyed, or trivial when I write on other venues. So this one is for me. I'm sure that I will have moments of soaring beauty, of poetry sublime, of articulate ramblings ambrosial as an autumn afternoon. Sometimes, it's just gonna suck, no matter what I write.

For those that know me from other venues, welcome. First off, I am not chic, nor am I with it, hip, cool or even well-clued. I remember playing RPGs with paper and pencils, the rattle of dice on the table, bottles of mountain dew and coke threatening to spill and thereby destroy precious pictures of characters and PC stat sheets. I am terrified of taking on the task of learning to roll play in this brave new online reality.

While I have an eye for form and beauty, texture and color, I haven't an artistic bone in my body. You will find no links to pages filled with my own art.

My attempts at Web page building are pathetic. I've pretty much given up becoming a guru on Web design. I can only sit back and wonder at the miracles I see before me.

But ask me to describe how it feels to have a cat brush their tail under your chin, or how a maple leaves in autumn smell, or to describe the burst of flavor of wild grapes on my tongue and by all the gods, I could probably do it and you will say "Yeah, that's right, it's just like that!"

I am in love with my mother tongue. I delight in the pictures formed by words, by emotions evoked in a line of poetry, and the shiver a well-turned phrase will send along my spine.

I look forward to your input, my friends. Climb in, let's go for a ride!

Poem: "Want Ad"

©E. Howe 1997
All rights reserved

The following is a poem I wrote one night, sitting at my local watering hole. I'd picked up one of those cheesy local papers, and out of boredom and desperation had perused the "Personals" section. Yeah, the catastrophy columns: "ISO WF21-22 for meaningful converstaion and hot sex. No fat chicks."

I was utterly disgusted with the pickings. I pulled out a pen, and filled out the form with the following:

"Have you felt
the unkindness of ravens
their dark
wings lending night
to the sky?

This mockingbird longs
to sing the songs
of a single exaltatious
lark".

I filled out the rest of the form, and promptly forgot it. I left it on the table when I left after my obligatory glass of wine. The next day I got a call. Another woman had found it, and was intrigued by it, and wanted to meet me.

We did, and she then politely told me that I wasn't her type.
But I did manage to get the paper back, and I think I still have the poem somewhere, written on cheap newsprint.

My chambered eye

Camera comes from a word that means "chamber", or so I've been told. And for whatever reason, I have developed an eye for pleasing shapes and colors. I remember back to my high school days and a trip to Yosemite Park in winter. At the top of Bridal Falls I saw a woman crouching at the edge of the pool of water, a camera raised to her face. I wondered what could be so fascinating to be worth taking a picture of in the partially-iced waters.

I approached her, and asked. "What are you taking a picture of?"
She lowered the camera. I'd heard the click and whir of the shutter and winding mechanism in the cool air. It must have been February or March, I think.

She stood up on the rock, and pointed downward. Ice had formed over the water, but now was melting, and had drawn away from the rock edge in the water, leaving a gap of dark water perhaps a half-inch wide. "I like the curves the ice and rock make. So I took a picture of it."

She was right. The edge of the ice was corroding, and looked frilled. But the edge was even, and ran in a perfect tandem with the edge of the rock. They were very close in color, the light granite almost as white as the translucent ice. I could see the outline of a leaf been the ice further back.

Since then, I have been blessed with the chambered eye. I can find an image, crop it until it alone captures the imagination, fit it into the confines of a limited space, and it becomes intense and intriguing.



These brilliant backlit autumn leaves are an example. Here is the original picture that I took in my own yard two years ago.
I hope you enjoy them.


http://members.cox.net/ambitious_wench/originalleaves.jpg