Your mother’s favorite bird was the one in front of her.
— Richard Powers, Bewilderment: A Novel (W. W. Norton & Company, September 21, 2021)
Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 6:23 am, September 24, 2021. 58° F. Heavy Rain. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT
Tag: richard powers
Lightly Child, Lightly.
The mind’s eye had two bafflements: coming out of the light and going into it.
— Richard Powers, Bewilderment: A Novel (W. W. Norton & Company, September 21, 2021)
Notes:
- NY Times Book Review: “In ‘Bewilderment,’ Richard Powers Smothers Nature With Piety.
- Photo: DK @ Daybreak. 6:10 to 6:46 am, September 22, 2021. 72° F. 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.”
Three of my best friends
Having just read “The Overstory,” by Richard Powers, I was delighted to learn more about Suzanne Simard, an inspiration for Patricia Westerford, who despite derision and opposition, proved trees communicate among themselves. When I was a child growing up in Marblehead, Mass., three of my best friends were trees: two oaks and a white pine. I named them, climbed them and talked to them knowing they recognized me and enjoyed my company. Now, at 88, all my two-legged friends are gone, but my tree friends are still standing. I visited them last summer, glad to see them tall, strong and healthy.
— Cynthia Baketel Systrom, Stuart, FL in a reader’s letter to the editor in response to Ferris Jabr’s “The Social Life of Forests in the NY Times Magazine 12/6/20 issue (New York Times Magazine, Dec 20, 2020)
Photo: DK’s 3 Sisters. Cove Island Park. 6:56 am. January 6, 2021.
Riding I-95 South. With Cuts.
I’m crossing the I-95 overpass, aiming to circle back and slide down the ramp into the pack – the morning rush is backed up for miles.
I wait at the stoplight.
Four girls, 7-8 years old, blue skirts, sweaters, hair pulled back, backpacks bouncing on their backs…hustle across the crosswalk, all four with iPhones cradled in both hands. Texting. Surfing. Instagram. Facebook. Snapchat. Hands, eyes, fingers, all blind to the onset of autumn in the trees overhead, and the yellowing leaves which quiver from the gentle breeze easing in from the North. The light turns, I see them in the rear view mirror, heads down. And likely still down at this moment. The scene replays in a loop. Something Large, is irretrievably Lost.
I inch down 95.
Something Large, is irretrievable Lost. A 1/2 mile stretch on my right, formerly lined with thick, lush trees, the same trees that separated the commuter train lines from the suburbs, the same trees offering a moment’s sanctuary from Work-to-Come or Work-Behind-Us, these same Giant trees, thick with foliage…are Gone.
A giant yellow earthmover hulks along the highway, resting from the mayhem it delivered overnight. Creating What? Room for a second lane exiting into Greenwich? Another rail line? Tree-free space to stand-up cinder block distribution warehouses for Amazon, that stretch for acres, offering convenient access to I-95?
I pass the clear cut, the traffic eases and it’s all behind me. Or so I think. Continue reading “Riding I-95 South. With Cuts.”
It’s been a long day
It’s like watching a zoo animal circle its cage.
For the first time, she realizes that being alone is a contradiction in terms.
Even in a body’s most private moments, something else joins in.
~ Richard Powers, from “Trunk” in The Overstory: A Novel
Notes:
- Photo: via Objects of Delight
- Related Posts: It’s been a long day