Lightly Child, Lightly.

It sometimes sweeps through him in quick glimpses like an illumination and yes, yes, then he’s filled with a kind of happiness and he thinks that there might be a place somewhere… what if everything could be like that? … He thinks about a place like that, which is obviously no place, he thinks, he falls into a kind of sleep that isn’t like sleep but more a bodily movement where he’s not moving… everything’s heavy and hard and there’s a place in the big heaviness that’s an unbelievably gentle shining light, like faith, yes, like a promise.

Jon Fosse, The Other Name: Septology I-II.


Notes:D

  • DK Photo @ Daybreak. 67° F, with light rain. 6 am. November 12, 2022. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Sunday Morning


Pictures from this morning’s walk at Cove Island Park here.

Lunar Eclipse Blood Moon

A solid half an hour spent trying to capture a non-blurry blood moon shot in pre-twilight. Failed! Gear not up to the task. Incredibly frustrating if it wasn’t so beautiful. And if that wasn’t enough, as I took my second lap around the park, I was treated to meteor falling straight from the sky. And, no, I wasn’t fast enough to catch that beauty either. Happy Tuesday!


DK Photo: Lunar Eclipse. Beaver Blood Moon. 45° F. 5:02 to 5:20 am. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. November 8, 2022. (Better seen in person than these blurry shots!)

Sunday Morning (19 sec)


DK Video @ Cove Island Park @ 5:53 a.m. this morning. Photos from this morning’s walk here.

Lightly Child, Lightly.

I saw a man once, I waved to him and he did not wave back; I felt very self-conscious, partly because of how often I was walking this road. I walked until I got to the small cove we had driven past the first day we came here that had thrilled me so quietly; it still gave me a quiet sense of awe… And then I would walk back again.

— Elizabeth Strout, Lucy by the Sea: A Novel (Random House, September 20, 2022)

Notes:

  • Elizabeth Strout’s words spoke to me, this 905th consecutive day (almost, like in a row) on my morning walk at Cove Island Park.
  • Photos from yesterday’s morning walk @ Cove Island Park. More photos from yesterday’s walk here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Sully’s Great Adventures (II)

Grandpa and I went on our morning walk this morning.  I had so much fun.

After I did my do-do, Grandpa let me off leash. I can sense his anxiety just before he lets me off-leash…so much stress. I don’t understand why he gets all worked up. Oh, wait. I smell Geese. A lot of geese. Has to be over 100 of them snoozing in the dark on the open field. Have you ever heard 200 wings slapping at the same time?  You can’t see the Geese, but wow, what a sound. Whoop! Whoop! Whoop! Oh, here comes Grandpa running across the field. He’s so proud of me; he’s waving his arms in the air. Good Boy Sully, Do that Again! Or maybe it was, GET BACK HERE!

I walked into the lagoon chest deep. My boobies got cold so I ran out. And there’s Grandpa again: Good Boy Sully!  Or maybe it was, Don’t you Dare go in there!

I then watched Grandpa creep up to ~50 egrets. There was soooo many.  They are soooo white.  He was tip toeing to get closer.  I couldn’t understand why he was poking along so I raced by him and flushed all the egrets up into the sky. I heard Grandpa yell something like “Good Boy Sully! Great Job“. Or maybe it was: ‘You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me.” I think he was proud of me for getting them all up at once.  And oh, those white wings, against the clouds and sunrise. So, Beautiful!

And, oh, I almost forgot.  I didn’t puke once in Mom’s car. He seemed happy about that.

Can’t wait until tomorrow’s adventures!

Nap time!


More pictures from this morning’s Cove Island Park walk here.

A rare experience of a moment at daybreak, when something in nature seems to reveal all consciousness…


Notes:

  • Daybreak. 36° F. 6:15 am. October 9, 2022. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More photos from this morning here.
  • Post Title: Charles Ives, “Essays Before a Sonata

A lovely September Day — tender —

 


Notes:

  • Photos: DK @ Daybreak, Cove Island Park. 6:00-6:15 a.m. on September 10, 2022.  More photos from a glorious morning here.
  • Post Title: Virginia Woolf, A Writer’s Diary (Mariner Books; March 31, 2003)

TGIF: the herons…; and the world I’ve known; all fading past me into peace.


Notes:

  • Photo: DK with Great Blue Heron @ Daybreak. 5:55 a.m. 70° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. Other photos from this morning’s walk here.
  • Post Title from Siegfried Sassoon’s poem titled: Falling Asleep

Sunday Morning

and I shall have some peace there,

for peace comes dropping slow

— Naomi Shihab Nye, from “The Words Under the Words,” Words Under the Words: Selected Poems.


Notes:

  • Photos: Daybreak. 5:11 to 6:00 pm, August 7, 2022. 80° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. More photos from this morning here (landscape) and here (birds).
  • Poem via The Vale of Soul-Making

Walking. With Birdie.

4:55 a.m. 823 consecutive (almost) days on my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. 823 days, like in a row.

I walk.

It’s hot. Like 76° F and it’s not even 5 am yet.  It was Eugenides who said: “It was one of those humid days when the atmosphere gets confused…you could feel it: the air wishing it was water.”

Yet, there was zero confusion here. I’m wearing long pants and a long sleeve shirt — because, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be scratching myself for the next two days from gnat bites. I would rather suffer through the heat, and b*tch about it, than let those pesky SOBs feast on me. DK 1, Gnats, no bloody chance.

But, it’s hot. On top of the long pants, long shirt, and the white, just-under-the-knee sweat socks, I’m dragging this backpack around, just in case some miracle of a bird sighting will require a long zoom lens. Take 1 day off, you obsessive, compulsive, maniacal idiot, or is it manic?… and leave the bag in the car.

I loosen the straps on the backpack, and shift the load a bit to rebalance, thinking this will help. It doesn’t.  Why is it so bloody heavy? [Read more…]

Walking. With Greg Louganis.

4:50 a.m. 817 consecutive (almost) days on my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. 816 days, like in a row.

I walk.

You know the formula for a great photo day-break:

  1. Low Tide.
  2. Clouds.
  3. No Humans.

And today, a Trifecta Miss = Poor shooting day on all three counts. (Shooting, meaning not assault weapons, but with a Canon. Sorry, assault weapons are top of mind.)

Yet, there’s a consolation prize. It’s the end of July. Humidity is low, it’s 63° F and breezy. What’s better than that?

But even with the magical weather, I’m restless, uninspired. I plod around the park, itching to get back into the car and do Something. And I’m apparently not alone, with Seán Hewitt, in All Down Darkness Wide, “Even in these quiet moments I was afraid of purposelessness.”

I turn back thinking I’ll get a stalker silhouette shot with some kids on the break wall. And at that moment, Something, makes me stop and look out onto Long Island Sound. There, in the sky, an osprey prowls in a tight circle overhead. Being a sh*tty measure of distance, I couldn’t tell you whether he was 100 feet or 100 yards up, but let’s just say he was high.

First miracle of the morning. I actually stop and see if anything will happen. He widens his arc overhead, and continues to circle. Just wait DK, just wait another bloody minute. If he can circle and wait for food, so can you. Just wait, damn it.

[Read more…]

Walking. Day After Tomorrow.*

4:25 a.m. I’m off.  791 consecutive (almost) days (like in a row) — my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park.

Never could read a map, coupled with a lousy sense of direction.  But, I could feel it. A gentle breeze from some direction at 5 mph. Just enough to keep the pesky gnats from feasting on me.

65° F.  Breezy. No humans. Quiet. A perfect morning.

Yet, despite this magnificent start, I should have known. It was still dark out, but it got darker, fast.

I pull into the parking lot, turn off the ignition and sit and look around me.

Plastic forks and plates. Plastic Bags. Cans. Bottles. Disposable hibachi charcoal grills, empty charcoal bags. Face masks. Soiled diapers. Potato chip bags. Remains of potato salad. Toys (broken).  Cans of empty pork and beans. Watermelon rinds.  A total desecration of a place that should be sacred, hallowed ground.

I stare out of the windshield, pondering whether I should just fire up the car and head home. Sigh. This is all in full alignment with the documentary last night.

Eric tuned into a Disney documentary on a family of sperm whales in Dominica, with spectacular underwater shots of the gentle creatures, mothers’ nursing their babies, the click, click, click of whales communicating with each other.  And all of this magnificence threatened by discarded gill nets, hits from boat propellers and swallowing toxic plastics thrown overboard.

So the nerve receptors were switched on high as I’m taking in the parking lot scene.  Like Alice Walker in “Moody” in “Her Blue Body Everything We Know“:

I am a moody woman
my temper as black as my brows
as sharp as my nails
as impartial as a flood
that is seeking, seeking, seeking
always
somewhere to stop.

Enough DK. Let it go. I’m sure this mess is due to park overcrowding after 2 years of COVID quarantine and a shortage of garbage cans, or… raccoons tipping trash cans. Has to be. [Read more…]

Sunday Morning


George & Grace @ Daybreak. 5:35 a.m. July 3, 2022. 72° F. Cove Island Park, CT. More pictures from this morning’s walk here.

Walking. In Pursuit of Stalker.

4:40 a.m. Daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. 788 consecutive (almost) days. Like in a row.

Yesterday, Eric (#1 Son; #1 on most days) and I were at the kitchen table having lunch.  Popeyes Spicy Chicken Sandwiches (and Cajun Fries). If you haven’t tried it, it is absolutely the best.  (And yes, it easily tops Chick-fil-A, Shake Shack, McDonald’s and Wendy’s. I know.)

Now, what isn’t as easily digested, are the calorie counts.  Chick-fil-A @ ~ 500 calories.  Popeyes sandwich tops 1200 calories. Add 800 calories for the fries, and what you have here is FDAs maximum calorie intake for an entire day, in a matter of < 10 minutes.

So, I step on the digital scale this morning…flashing, flashing, flashing, measuring, measuring, measuring, weighing, weighing, weighing…an interminable wait, that couldn’t have been more than 2 secs,….Then boom it locks in: + 2 lbs, day over day. WTH!

Mind races through yesterday’s meals.  Ah yes, Popeyes. Plus, 1760 mg of Sodium in the fries.  Another 1460 mg of sodium in the Chicken Sandwich = 3220 mg in < 10 minutes, a whopping 1000 mg over what FDA recommends daily.

That’s what we have here. An, old, fat, nearly retired, giant Salt Lick.  Disgusting.  Disgusted. So, was it worth it? You work so hard to cut weight and then blow it all up in < 10 minutes of food porn lust. 

I think about this while I’m standing on one leg, balancing, wondering if I have another 5 years to live. Yep, I’d have Popeyes again today for lunch, identical order. Saliva builds.

So, back to yesterday’s lunch.  Eric tells me that his Buddy was chatting with a friend of his who happened to mention that she walks at Cove Island Park each morning to catch the sunrise.  Buddy proceeds to tell her about his best friend’s Dad and his daybreak walks at Cove Island Park.  Eric, continues, “I think she said something like: ‘You know, I see this older guy at the park every morning. Backpack. Camera gear.  Doesn’t ever say anything. Really keeps to himself. Strange guy.'”

“She said that? Exactly that?” [Read more…]

Sunday Morning (Images that stick)


Notes:

  • Backstory on Human Sleeping on Bench: “Walking. With Moment that Sticks“.
  • Geese swimming in a row. (“Ducks in a Row“)
  • Last Photo Inspiration: “I want to believe that if humans really leaned into this impulse to mother one another, it would be stronger than the impulse to tear one another apart.” —  Mary Laura Philpott, Bomb Shelter: Love, Time, and Other Explosives (Atria Books, April 12, 2022)
  • Photos: DK @ Daybreak. 4:40 to 5:07 am, June 26, 2022. 67° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT.

Walking. In Strawberries.

4:23 a.m., or so.  Yesterday morning.

It’s been 772 consecutive (almost) days on my daybreak walk at Cove Island Park. Like in a row.

And, I’m walking.

This is after moon shots at 1:43 am, 3:35 am, and now – – all posted yesterday in Let us taste the Strawberry MoonWhy, am I still up? Because Christie told me about the Strawberry Moon. And when my WordPress friends tell me to do something, I do it. So I chased her.

Who’s Christie? Mimi from her post last night: “There are people who I have followed (or who have followed me) on WordPress for years. Never met them, never spoke to them, and would likely not recognize them if we passed on the street. And yet, they are my friends…We commiserate in comment sections, check in with each other on email, rail at times, commiserate other times and occasionally marvel at our common ground. Ground that we walk in figurative step, covering invisible miles through the ether, yet as firm under my feet as the street. There is wonder in this.”

There is wonder in this. I’m nodding my head in agreement. Yet another awesome Human who can put into words, what I can’t, and so beautifully.

I walk. Bleary-eyed. Bone tired. Exhaustion fully set in.

I can see her out of the corner of my eye. She’s Giant, my Strawberry Moon, hovering, and whisper quiet as she hangs overhead, illuminating the earth in her warm glow.  All, I’m sure, to protect me from taking a header as I make my way to the North point of the park.

I walk.

I twist my Air Pod snugly into my right ear, and then my left.  I cue up a Chill playlist, randomly selected by another giant fruit, Apple.

I walk. My feet are moving under their own propulsion, on the same track that I have now passed hundreds of times.  “Siri, turn up the volume.”  Henry Green in “Shift” …I feel movements under my skin…” [Read more…]

Lightly Child, Lightly

The classical elements are earth, water, air and fire, and this old idea feels right at a sensory level. I start to think that a combination of two is primal and powerful: rain on soil, fire in the wind, sunlight on stone. A combination of three is poetry: the sea washing the moonlight into the cliff, a rainbow.

— Amy Liptrot, The Instant (Canongate Books, March 3, 2022)


Notes:

  • Photo: DK @ Daybreak. ~5:00 am, June 12, 2022. 60° F. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. Other pictures from Sunday morning here.
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”

Walking. With Moment that Sticks.

4:33 a.m., or so. You are so damn precise with your clock.

I pulled into the Cove Island Park parking lot, my headlights illuminated her…sleeping. Hold that thought.

It’s been 770 consecutive (almost) days on my daybreak walk. Like in a row.

I was going to share a different story.  A running story. I page through the dates of my prior posts to find my last running post: June 6, 2020! MY GOD. It’s been 2 years! And, this back and these legs carrying 12 lbs more. Yep, I decided to lace up the shoes and run. 2 days in a row.  My body is so tired, that it couldn’t lift my fingers to the keyboard to tap the words out. So, we’re going to hold this thought for another day.

Back to this morning’s walk. A spectacular morning. 60° F. 5 mph breeze.  And it had the three elements of a perfect morning. 1) Low tide. 2) 30-60% cloud cover. 3) No Humans. So we have ALL of this going for us.

And I spotted my Swans, George and Grace, feeding.

And I spotted a black-crowned night heron, a mime, frozen in place; this morning’s twilight, the finest, lightest bulb, illuminating its thin, light white plume.  “Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.” — T.S. Eliot, from La Figlia Che Piange.

And then there’s my spirit bird. Plural, Birds. A flock of cormorants. Must mean that I’m going to have a great day.

And on the back side of my walk, I stalk a white-tailed deer, and snap a few shots of her. It’s a her I think. In this world of pronouns, I’m sure I stepped into it again.

So, you can pick any number of these moments, and hold them, for a moment, the day, into next week. Yet…one moment stands alone, higher above the rest.

It was 1 hour after I had first spotted her, and she was still sleeping, in the same exact position, undisturbed.

I’m going to remember this. [Read more…]

Lightly Child, Lightly

I dream through a wordless, familiar place.
The small boat of the day sails into morning,
past the postman with his modest haul, the full trees
which sound like the sea, leaving my hands free
to remember. Moments of grace. Like this.

Carol Ann Duffy, from Moments of Grace in “Mean Time” (Pan Macmillan; January 1, 2018)


Notes:

  • Photo: DK @ Daybreak.  Cove Island Park. June, 4, 2022. 5:34 a.m.
  • Poem: Thank you Beth @ Alive on All Channels)
  • Post Title & Inspiration: Aldous Huxley: “It’s dark because you are trying too hard. Lightly child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly. Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”
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