2018 Tuesday — Crossing the Tracks

The clock was half past six when we saw this. I would be lying if I told you we crossed the tracks once and captured it . . . but the first viewing did cause us to burst with all kinds of verbal emotion. This isn’t a posed picture. The sun wouldn’t hold still!

I’m not sure why . . . this photo makes me feel wonderfully nostalgic and overflowing with awe.

But another day is ending . . . time moves so fast. I often begin the college semester by giving my students the poem “Our Ground Time Here Will be Brief” by Maxine Kumin. I try to get students to realize how quickly the term will vanish and that every minute is valuable and cannot be reproduced. I’ll leave the poem here for you. . . .

Our Ground Time Here Will be brief

landing lights make
nail holes in the dark.
A fine snow falls. We sit
on the tarmac taking on
the mail, quick freight,
trays of laboratory mice,
coffee and Danish for
the passengers.

Wherever we’re going
is Monday morning.
Wherever we’re coming from
is Mother’s lap.
On the cloud-pack above, strewn
as loosely as parsnip
or celery seeds, lie
the souls of the unborn:

my children’s children’s
children and their father.
We gather speed for the last run
and lift off into the weather.
— Maxine Kumin


Good night from SoCal,
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol