Park's Edge

Park's Edge | Mark Lindsay

Shoulders hunched, I walk through the park. In these parts, March and April are tempestuous months. And they most always bring storminess into life itself. I once got fired from my job in the month of March, something I always remember when the weather gets mercurial. Spring winds usher forth change, most all of it good. But sometimes it takes time to see the good and the wisdom of the universe. Once May rolls around a persistent sun basks the bones and still, quiet air prevails. The trick is to appreciate March and April for what they are. I look from the path and into the park's edge.

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After Stieglitz

Sky #1 | Mark Lindsay

The sky is the most ephemeral of things. A masterpiece of abstraction that is ever changing, each iteration is achingly short-lived. We are drawn to behold a particular moment of sky precisely because we know it won't last. We so want to grasp at it and to keep it, but, alas, it cannot and will not stay for us.

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Thunder Wall

Thunder Wall | Mark Lindsay

Deep in Grand Canyon the sudden realization hits us. We smell it. We look up and see it. Rain clouds. Early September means monsoon season—we get a taste of it most every year. A sudden ghost wind confirms it. We swallow hard and wait for thunder.

The clouds grumble at first, like a grumpy lion who's been awakened from his hot-afternoon nap. The ghost wind hits us again, licking us with its cool wetness. The desert sucks the wind dry and stillness returns, but the clouds grow by the minute. Dark, Darker, Black. Stillness always precedes thunder. We wait.

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Out of the Woods

Birds in Flight over Bunker | Mark Lindsay

"We're not out of the woods!" screamed the local paper's headlines. We're in the middle of drought here in Northern California and the paper seems to be relishing that fact. Never mind that the rain is falling, it isn't enough. And if it were enough, then there'd be floods. LANDSLIDES. Then just wait until fire season. All that rain will mean bad news for firefighters. Lots of growth to burn. Or, if there isn't enough rain that will be bad news also. Lots of dead growth to burn. Any way you look at it we're screwed. All the reporters love to say, no matter the nature of perceived relief, "It's a drop in the bucket." And if they don't say it they unfailingly find someone to quote who will.

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Clouds, No Clouds

Cloud over Garland's | Mark Lindsay

This blog had been down for a few days. The old server was getting cranky and it was time to upgrade. I'd been putting it off for months. Now I know why I waited so long. Once I pulled the plug and pointed the universe (Internet) towards the new server, my web site, email, and blog all broke. My heart sank.

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