skylands late august

picassa album

august on the delaware west branch

picassa album

cloud appreciation day

picassa album
Looking up at the panorama of sky around us As we drive the interstate highway You read from the book explaining what we see. We learn the finer points of cloud appreciation. Some clouds are created by thermals Rising up in the morning of a sunny day We see them appear like cauliflower. These are the various cumulus cloud types. Some clouds are created by mountains Forcing the air up as it flows past the ridge Making a kind of standing wave cloud on the backside Something like what boulders do to a stream. Some clouds are created by weather fronts advancing Moist air condensing as it chills The storm clouds lowering down upon us Immersing us in precipitation. In northern Australia in the Gulf of Carpentaria Sometimes a giant cloud wave rolls in The locals call it the Morning Glory Delighting the waiting glider pilots who surf all day. I hear this story while maneuvering in the traffic As you provide our entertainment. What fun to go for a drive like science class Sharing a greater appreciation of clouds.

those who listen

Hearing foreign languages spoken around me

Living in a multinational community

I hear the tone of voice but understand little

Except a few words in Spanish and fewer in Korean.

Going for a walk beside the lake in the park nearby

Hearing many other languages and seeing the person

I make a tenuous guess where the speaker was born:

This one perhaps Eastern Europe, the other perhaps South Asia.

As I try to understand what they are talking about

A strange remembrance passes through my brain

Before I understood language, when words were a jumble

Before my first conscious memory.

The awareness is something like a waking dream

Like when some smell or sound takes you back

A strong feeling that you can’t place exactly

That has no words but takes hold of your thoughts.

Half awake first thing in the morning I hear the fish crows

Calling kwok kwok through the open window

Speaking their familiar language I do not understand.

For a moment I have a vague memory of some time before.

This indistinct recall is a recurring experience for me

Different particulars but somehow the same elusive recognition

Like feeling someone looking at you

Who looks away when you look at them.

I think this is not an early symptom of memory loss

Since I remembered well the details from 60 years ago

Last month revisiting my childhood home

Talking to another kid who grew up on the block.

Is this what happens to the older brain?

Daydreaming more, letting the mind wander

What’s happening in this moment not so important

When millions of moments have come and gone.

Like a reverie looking out the bus window

Traveling the same familiar route

Catching a glimpse of someone or something

Imagining being off the bus and in that other place.

We soon move on to the next thought.

The river of time takes us along asleep or awake

Babbling away to those who listen

Who may understand its tone like a voice.