Summer Wind

Winter Fog, Venice | Mark Lindsay

The wind is howling this morning. It howled last night and for the three nights before that. Wind signals change. Something is blowing out and is being replaced by whatever is blowing in. By the time whatever is on the way actually arrives the wind will have wreaked its havoc. Broken planting pots, fallen garbage cans, branches and leaves are everywhere. This wind leaves behind the debris of change as it blows in something new. And I suspect that something new is the summer season.

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Fourthiness Revisited

Star-Spangled Me | Mark Lindsay

Once, when I was ten, I lit a sparkler right in the middle of our living room. This, of course, was a mistake, something a pubescent boy is predisposed to make. It caused quite a stir as the acrid, metallic smoke filled the small room. While I only pulled this stunt but once, mostly because of all the yelling, I can still smell sparkler smoke as I write this. That—and the sulfur smell of real fireworks—always reminds me of July 4th. Smells evoke memories like nothing else.

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Lensbaby, Day Two

Summer Impression | Mark Lindsay

The day is filled with activity. Yellow jackets built an angry nest in the front yard. A man in a bee suit arrived to take care of the infestation. And my handyman is here, fixing some dry rot from the winter rains. With the drone of electric sanders in the distance, I try to make art and update the web site. I look for yellow jackets out of the corner of my eye. Contemplation is nowhere to be found.

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Meanwhile, the Grass Grows

Wild Grass at Town Park | Mark Lindsay

Like a cluttered attic, sometimes my heads get stuffed. I've tried every time-management method there is. I've written lists, kept journals, made Gantt charts, flowed flow charts, and checked checklists. My brain still hurts.

Sometimes it feels like pinballs are rattling around up there, bouncing off the padding of the inside wall of my skull. "Do this, do that. The world will end if you don't..." Thoughts. I've become a human doing instead of a human being. That's why I like to watch grass grow.

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Another Fourth

July Fourth Princess | Mark Lindsay

July Fourth in our town seemed somber this year. Buried in the facade of its usual silliness, it somehow felt just a wee bit forced in its frivolity. Perhaps the same parade with the same floats year after year has numbed us all. Maybe the economy has blunted the usual patriotic optimism and fervor for everyone. Or, maybe it was just me.

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