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Belated storm report

Snow on October 15! At first it was fun. Rolling balls for the snowman, I had to keep stopping to pull out black walnut leaf ribs — enough to make three dozen Eves, at least. Sure, give him a blaze-orange cap. Maybe he’ll come to life and wreak some minor havoc.

Read the rest of the report at the Plummer’s Hollow blog. (That’s my niece Elanor in the photo.)

This entry was posted Wednesday, October 21st, 2009 at 11:48 pm and is filed under Photos, Plummer's Hollow.  Print

One Response to “Belated storm report”

1. Laura Sorrells says:

   October 22, 2009 at 6:18 am

   I’ve missed MP and VN. Glad y’all are back.

   Reply

Welcome

This is the weblog of Dave Bonta, a poet, editor, and shutterbug from the eastern edge of western Pennsylvania. For background on the site, see the About page. For more about me, see my Google profile.

   

 

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  "On the whole I concentrated on things and people that I found charming and splendid; my notes are also full of poems and observations on trees and plants, birds and insects."
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• Smorgasblog

  • not native fruit
    i find them inspiring because they represent ordinary working-class people expressing their spiritual creativity in a free and exuberant manner. these folks allow their spirit and zest for living to spill out creatively filling space and air with color and sound. against the backdrop of an often grim and always gritty-gray environment they project an alternative.
    ----

  • Somewhere in NJ
    Owls are the stuff of imagination. Seeing these keepers of shadow requires exploring the edges of light... if one fails at it, the fault lies not in the seeing, but instead with one's way of looking.
    ----

  • Clive Hicks-Jenkins' Artlog
    Sometimes the cold was such that I sat with my feet in newspaper-stuffed cardboard boxes to stop my toes from freezing. So there was rigour and hardship of a kind, which is what I wanted. I think perhaps over-idealising solitude might be a failing of creative people.
    ----

  • Velveteen Rabbi
    The sadness arises
    again
    and cuts my legs
    out from under me

    the monotony
    of trying to soothe
    screams as frequent
    as the waves...
    ----

  • Small Change
    Camille Claudel hugs the marble child
    she made, while Rodin lectures her

    on the tyranny of feelings.
    ----

  • slow reads
    I wave at black windows as the orange bus sets. My son, where do you sit? Do you see? look?
    ----

  • Crackskull Bob
    One good thing about drawing snow scenes is you can leave a lot of space blank. Artists are basically lazy, or else you'd find us working down to the Ford plant or whatnot. Instead of losing appendages in machinery or listening to assholes say "How's that report coming, Taylor?" we get to sit around playing with paints, a skill we pretty much mastered in kindergarten.
    ----

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    Some names were as familiar as my own — Argiope aurantia, Anatis mali, Erythemis simplicicollis…. well, there were dozens and dozens of them. In the weeks after we began our fight with cancer, those names would gradually be replaced by the names of chemo agents, bones requiring radiation treatments, drugs available under clinical trials, and so on. Gradually, over time, it was as though some strange cloud of selective amnesia descended upon me.
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    Longing and terror are both of them valid responses to the immensity of this landscape. It seems a shame to me that there are people who have never seen a thing like this, who have never once been out of sight of civilization’s scars upon the earth. Those are the only places I feel whole. What kind of truncated life it must be, to have all your skies dissected by overhead wires, all your earth parceled out in neat lots.
    ----

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All content by Dave Bonta at Via Negativa is available for reprint and remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.