Lucky numbers 2, 34, 9, 8, 77, 21

He said: Today is a wet, rainy day. Perfect for curling up in front of a fireplace (which I don't have) with someone (don't have), and sipping mugs of hot chocolate (out of it). My fortune cookie says, "There's a good chance of a romantic encounter soon." I'll have to keep an eye out for it.

and she said: Good for you: a romantic encounter for autumn. It would be perfect timing. You should get that fireplace and those mugs for hot chocolate in time.

and then he said: Wouldn't you know it, I already have the mugs. And wouldn't you know it, I bought them (and some hot chocolate mix) because a girl was coming over, and all I had were these old, chipped cups. Needless to say, the hot chocolate is gone. better stock up.

and then she said: or even better: you should make sure your encounter owns a fireplace and those mugs.

and then he said: That will be one of my opening questions. "Hi, nice to meet you. Do you have a fireplace? I'll bring the hot chocolate...." This could work.

Help Dry The Tears

I ran across this on flickr today and thought it might be appropriate. Yes I'm from the States and the recent Hurricanes are on everyone's minds here. If you'd like to see more of this photographer's work, here is a direct link to the photographers photo archives at flickr...

Peace.

Canal 24 Horas

sitting in front of that TV screen that due to some cable works now holds a ridiculous number of programs. zapping through channels like a child. noting down the most curious programs. thinking of the 10.000 Monkeys who sit and type all those words that are needed to fill all those program blanks, there, in this revolving house of 24 hour transmissions.

In the House of Channels

Starhunter Moonstruck
Listening to
Prime Time
Exact on The Hour
of The New Scooby Doo
like a Peter Pan Imposter
Sailing on
Canal 24 Horas
Burning Life
.

details

details of design and craftsmanship
seemingly appreciated and enhanced
by the precise angle of the sun's season
and the clarity of the shadows

in contrasting deep blue background
cosmic details ride the energy waves
from stars to carpenters' hands

body of stone

he waited on the other side.
stood there, white and silent.

his body of stone, older than our time.
his heart, crystallized in snow that blows with the passing days.

i had seen him before, yet i couldn't place him.
so i asked a wanderer for his identity.

"the white mountain," the wanderer revealed
both his nature and name:

the Mont Blanc,
Monsignore of the West European mountains

who choose for his home
the one country that never knew a king

Dream spider

The Golden Orb Spider returned. In my dream. And he was beautiful. And Bigger! And I felt very lucky to have seen him, in a newer, bigger web. It reminded me that it had left an imprint on my soul. I won't forget him. Ever.

End of something special

He is gone. My spider. The Golden Orb Spider. First the Garden Spider, gone when I returned from New York. Now the special one. The beautiful one. And I miss them both. I look outside at the remnants of an empty web and remember the amount of time I spent watching him, fascinated. And my heart breaks just a little, for that special find that I encountered. He offered me a glimpse of something foreign, something new, and I loved that he was there, gorgeous and orange, fabulous and black legged, a creature from a nightmare, but created with the details of a master craftsman.

Only to be, possibly, a meal for some passing bird or bat.

It couldn't last forever, though I hoped it would. I mourn his passing. Is that strange? To be sad at the loss of a spider? Hardly. He taught me not to forget those things that elude most people, those who are afraid, or too busy. I will remember him. Always. He was special. They both were.

Now I await the rebirth of a luna moth who transformed from a fat green catepillar into a cocoon the other Sunday and rests in a jar in my bedroom. The twelve year old in me refuses to leave.

This is a good thing.

Good night my eight-legged friends. May I find more someday. (Hopefully at a safe distance)

night blooming cereus: notes and questions

the patient cactus may grow for years without flowering. then, as if in secret, a blossom opens, but in darkness. (are you too modest to be seen in the light?)

its elaborate symmetry and fragrant scent last only through that one night (are you that shy? are you so vain?)

in the heat of daylight, the flower collapses in melted gossamer ruin, looking like a used condom, crinkled and plain (don't you know it may take time for your pollinator to find you?)

later, seeds confirm the success of this exquisite, ephemeral sexuality. in time, they will start the circle anew (how strange that it requires participation by another species to complete the act)

i know all this, yet you seem to hide a secret within these facts