lady hair

here and there

The Juice Box windows tell a lovely story, especially if you are thirsty for a box of snowflakes.

Dec. 13

It's a tragic day in Windsor Terrace, where a man stabbed his parents before throwing himself in front of a G train (story). Here's a candle for all the souls involved. And for the Maddoff son who hung himself in the room next to where his 2-year old son slept, and the Swedish terrorist who blew himself up and those he took out. If there is a strand of value in this grisly trifecta I'm wondering what it is. My mind wanders back to Fatima with the cord around her waist, begging that we restrain a little, or sacrifice a little of our joy and indulgences in observance of the struggles of so many, those whom Black Elk described as walking with the wind in their faces. It seems depraved to even entertain hope at these times, but neverthless I read the words of Juliana of Norwich yesterday when I opened her writings at random and took heart. In her despair over the despair of the souls of men, she lamented, but God said to her "What is impossible to you is not impossible to me. I shall save my word in all things, and make all things well." Just because how that could happen is beyond anyone's imagination doesn't mean it can't happen.

Terrace dwelller

I have begun calling this the Kimono Plant because of the grace of its cascades of spikey orbs, but would like to know what it actually is. Passed by it at the terraced garden built on a substrate of tires West of the Seeley Bridge on Prospect Avenue.

on milkweed, left and right

There was a plant on the left side of the yard that had drawn flies and a honey bee. When I looked I saw that the flies were dead, dangling in the wind like odd trophies, suspended by legs which they had been unable to extract from the flowers. What strong mechanism must allow the milkweed to trap such fine thread-like limbs. I prodded the honey bee, she didn't go anywhere, so I figured she was also a prisoner. Perhaps milkweed's embraces would kill this one too. I have only seen 4 honey bees so far this year and I snapped, got a seam ripper and a nail file and crushed the flowers until this one was free. Her feet were damaged and still bearing bits of the flowers which she tried to chew off. They didn't keep her from taking flight though, and soon she bumbled high over my head.

On the right side of the yard I've found no corpses dangling from the milkweed flowers. Perhaps they are slightly more generous or perhaps birds have already come along and pecked off the evidence. Over there I've frequently seen large bumble bees, smaller bees, syrphid flies and the attractive insect in coattails with attractive banded undergarments.

9th avenue detail

canyon

He asked if I'd tell my world, just how hard the little clouds try...

fence

windsor terrace formations

Down the hill someone's furrowed the yard for planting. I want to plant watermelons, gourds, beans, squash, okra for the flowers, and corn, but it's not my yard.Last week the rain engorged these London Plane buttonballs to the size of plums. Watch out below!

Thumbelina's Egg

The light was falling on a Howard St. garden in such a way that I couldn't help realizing that a tulip is a kind of cup that holds sunlight. But Hans Christian Anderson saw it differently; to him a tulip was a nursery from which a tiny woman emerges, full grown.

white stone

What I took for a Windsor Terrace cement stoop started to look porous as I got closer, closer, it showed what looked like tiny shell splinters. I wasn't sure until I saw this little thing, a tiny bit of sea fan, perhaps, that it really was limestone, always a product of ancient ocean floors.

From what I hear the sea floor really gets around, subducted under continental plates, pushed to the margins by magma bleeding aquatic rifts, pressure-cooked as marble, lifted into mountain ranges and then weathered down into solute. Taken up by mollusks and corals all over again. Here in Brooklyn the pelagic relic is rarely out of eye shot, often carved gracefully to complement the stone's oceanic allure. I have a new hobby, looking for these little fans, all the fan that fancy needs as far as I'm concerned. Mermaids must live around here somewhere.

emergency call box detail

This antique emergency call box stands outside of Rhythm & Booze in Windsor Terrace. Usually I walk by and barely notice it, but I suppose hearing someone calling for their removal helped me realize I like these friendly ghosts. If they do wind up going the way of the payphone, I hope the city will house them in a large museum room where they'd make an excellent red army, something along the lines of all those terracotta soldiers found buried under the surface of Xi'an.

marks the spot

Heard before seen. The crow found itself a fairly pristine perch atop the finial of The Immaculate Heart of Mary's steeple. This crow's mate, stationed on the rim of a large black satellite dish across E. 4th, seemed to watch in awe. Why it didn't join the other up there on the cross I couldn't say. Perhaps it was crow politics, or maybe the dish crow was too maculate for the position, although beyond a doubt is was not as spotty as a starling.

I was glad to learn that crows are gaining numbers these days, having recovered from the West Nile Virus. A few years ago I was wondering why I never saw any here.

sky dancers

blanks

Leaving the house yesterday morning I wondered about the set of keys I'd lost weeks ago, the set that contained the best cut of our house key, the one I wanted copied to make a key for the pet sitter. Funny to find the lost set while leaving the school, right there tacked to the bulletin board. I must have passed by the same spot at least 10 times before realizing that those were actually my keys. I always assumed they belonged to someone else. Profound stupidity or miracle or both?

Walking down 8th Ave in the afterglow of this strange good fortune I heard odd squawking and looked up to see parrots, the shock of green naked in the cold air. I wanted to follow them to the carnival.

brooklyn alluvion

golden umbrella

small world

Last week we entered the Magic Kingdom, and after a verbal processing delay I realized the man who searched my bag on the way in sounded like he was from Brooklyn. I took a few steps back and found out he's the brother of the woman that lives across the street from me, co-owner of the Hallmark on PPW. Hallmark, Disney, bag checking, Florida, Windsor Terrace; Makes a distinctive casserole. He looked official in his uniform with the sparkly badge.

Ocean Parkway Overpass

I'm trying to figure out if my fear of the overpass is at all rational. My friend says no, it's not, even if someone dumped a body there years ago, which people still memorialize every year by placing a candle on the bridge's Western end. Not rational, even if I feel completely isolated while crossing it, wondering if I wouldn't be safer taking my chances against the automobiles on the circle.

But it was a gloomy day when I last crossed. In better weather, I think I'd would have once again picked up the daydream of owning a sweater resembling the brickwork on 30 Ocean Parkway.

maple leaf