The clouds are forming and disapating in the crosscurrents right above us all day and all afternoon. Each frame forty seconds apart is its own painting with movement. And when each frame is considered a painted skyscape I'm looking through them for dramatic western sunset that here is disappointingly only five frames and flash in the corner, the contrails intrude and I can not decide if I like them or not. I wonder, as a painter, would I put contrails in one? Then run together like this their movement really is drama occuring above us and contrails insert us into the drama. The contrails say that we're going places and right through what we see here as if those crosswinds don't matter. That's a bold and brave thing to be doing, to fly right through the drama of weather and do that continuously and do that wholesale, as if weather doesn't matter while it most certainly does.
And below this spot at this time a bum is catching up with me on the sidewalk to a busy main street, easy enough to do I'm slowest one out there, he walks beside me and offers a bud for the two dollars I had given him earlier. I still can't get over that. I thought bums are straight takers. And not friendly engaging givers. And to run half a block to offer. While masses leave contrails above a whole different minor economy, a whole different urgency, one I'd never think of, layers beneath the same clouds.
11 comments:
Colorado has interesting sky patterns.
Chip you are a good person. That bum recognized that and wanted to share his good fortune. He was playing it forward.
Just in an alcoholic sort of way.
Chip is a good person. Colorado may also have interesting bums.
Better roiled than royaled.
Or boiled.
I haven't had any dealings with bums for years but yesterday a complete stranger pulled into my driveway, came to my door and said "That's a great stand of rhubarb you've got there, can I harvest it?" Frankly, I would have said yes cause I never do anything with the rhubarb but over two weeks ago my neighbor's son had asked if he could harvest the rhubarb and I said "Of course." Which means I had to tell the stranger a neighbor had dibs on the rhubarb. Here's the thing: what if the neighbor's son doesn't come harvest the rhubarb and this stranger passes my place a couple of weeks from now and sees the rhubarb still there? What'll he think of me then?!
ricpic, you can say no with no explanation. It is your rubarb.
Rubarb is delicious, so I would go ahead and use it for myself.
Ric that sounds like the set up to an episode of Law and Order SVU.
He might come back and sexually molest you.
I would call up the kid and tell him to harvest it or harvest it yourself and sell it at the farmers market.
Does anyone mind being sexually molested if it's done nicely?
I am not sure being sexually molested with rubbarb is "nice."
Rhubarb. My bad.
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