I admire people who can write fiction. For me fiction can only be an element of truth, a magnifying glass or a loudspeaker.

There is something about the sound of a soft rain on a tin roof. Its almost wind-like in its ebb and flow, as if someone were trying to tune into specific radio station and going through all the frequencies. Now that were sliding into our only other season, its hard to tell the time, especially when you can no longer use the sun as a clock. The sun becomes a sneaky child, hiding from and peaking at you unexpectedly through out the day. You can no longer count on him, hes free to do whatever he wants behind the clouds. The clouds are now your new sun, and watch you suspiciously from morning to night. The moon and stars have also punched out, replaced by a red and neverending piece of mis-placed dawn. The birds and wildlife are quite pleased with this arrangement as are all living things. The orchids and bromeliads finally relaxing and drawing water in humid breathes. This is the time of the year where I feel im on an island. Ive always played this game, even as a child. Pretending that just behind the horizon was a rocky cliff facing the ocean. The change in my mind and body was almost narcotic when I would do this. Very hard to stop this self-administered dose of joy. One minute everything is damp and grey and cold, and in one quick second the sun blasts through everything and every drop of water becomes crystaline and beautiful, everything green shades of emerald. The birds racing through the sky from tree to tree in lunatic extacy. Its like a sudden un-predictable rush hour, several times a day. And then suddenly your in New Zealand or Hawaii and not landlocked between two mountain ranges almost exactly in the middle, in the emerald heart of Colombia.

“Morioka is 140 leagues from Edo…

…at the end of the bashu road, and not blessed like the west country. To stand up for your own land against the children of those rich ones, is no easy thing.The Morioka cherry blossom splits the rocks to bloom. The Morioka magnolia blooms, even facing north. So I dont want you to wait until spring comes, and its nice and warm. I want you to split that rock, go wild and bloom”.IMG_3457

Lightposts, candles and visual incomformity.

IMG_2958From the front of my house, I have an almost unobstructed view clear to the mountains that frame this valley on the western side. Surprisingly, its quite hard to find a good view where I live due to limited visibilty on the ground due to trees and such. Ive sometimes guiltily wondered how things would look without any trees, a full horizon for 360 degrees. I remember that after hurricane Andrew the flatness of the now revealed topography was something I had never, ever seen before. You could see the lighthouse on Key Biscayne FROM Miami. So ive been wrestling visually with this slightly inclined, concrete lightpost, that sits right smack dab in the middle of this cow pasture in front of my house. I still dont know what to think about it. Sometimes I think its beautiful, almost like some kind of ruler, the cables hanging taught in the air like pencil drawn lines through the landscape. Sometimes I dont like it, this symbol of progress and decay. Electricity to feed televisions, radios and refrigerators stabbed into the ground with very little elegance; the  these violators of sunrises and sunsets, kite snatchers, electrocuters, electro-magnetic field disturbing cancer creators. Yet somehow, im sure id miss it if it weren’t there. Such is the built in incomformity of man. The power went out last night for just about as long as it takes to find some candles in the dark and get a few a of them alight…just as a little reminder.