Between the Waters

On Wasting Time

By: EarlB, 11:58 PM GMT on July 25, 2011

I'm summer-lazy,
Watching the sun-moved shadows
Sliding slowly past.

Lives are so finite,
Day by day, night after night,
Time just slips away.

Against me, my cat
sleeps happily, not concerned,
Old sage that he is.

Updated: 11:00 AM GMT on July 27, 2011


... how does your garden grow?

By: EarlB, 11:32 AM GMT on July 15, 2011

Rain has started falling on a regular basis here on the farm,
last month over four inches fell, it was the first normal (it
was actually an above normal total) rainfall in two months, and
when I think back to last year's dismal spring and summer
rainfall, I can do nothing but grin at the garden-perfect timing
of the rain this summer. Tomatoes are ready to be picked, string
beans were hanging heavy prior to removing the nine quarts
yesterday. Peppers are doing surprisingly well, too (they tend
to prefer warm and dry summers). And, the good timing of dry and
wet this year has produced a remarkable crop of onions!

Anyone who has gardened will be able to confirm that sometimes,
no matter what you do to "normalize" conditions, there may be
bad years, like 2010 was for local area planters. I didn't hear anyone
brag that "2010 was a great year for...." It was just a bad year:
it was too hot and it was too dry. There was just nothing that
could be done to make it right, it was just "too bad".

And so too, it is with many of our endeavors, though we think of
ourselves as exceedingly clever to the point of having control, we are
ultimately humbled into seeing that we are merely a part of a puzzle
that someone else is trying to assemble, a puzzle of gardens, or of
cultures, of love, or of politics.

Well it's raining now, after that long dry spell. Gardens of all
kinds are growing.


Ellis Island, 1911

By: EarlB, 11:07 AM GMT on July 02, 2011

We came to this island of freedom
Not as much seeking, as

We fled from hunger, from hatred,
From fear and from all of the pasts,

We begged, saved, too often stole
To pay for our hope for the future,

We built the roads,
We built the bridges,
We harvested the food,
Our bodies fueled our future.

And now, a hundred years later,
We live that good-life-dream

A good life lived in fear,
In fear of others, those who now are

They are building the roads,
They are building the bridges,
They are harvesting the food,
Their bodies the fuel of our future.

And, in a hundred years?


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