The Potency of Words

Tags

Black and White, Brine, Change, Conversation, Florida, Hope, Humanity, Inspiration, Introspection, Nature, Photography, Quotations, Sea, Story, Writing

I am not a conversationalist.  I go through life as monosyllabic as possible.  I greatly prefer to listen.  I lead a mostly silent existence.  Just the way I like it.  Mute and demure.

Ages ago, when I was wee, however, I fancied myself a micro David Attenborough and would wax on about all things Nature- to any poor sap that would listen.  Happily, I quelled that odious impulse as a craggy old adult.

But I was rattled, recently.  A rambunctious lad, the nephew of a friend, challenged my stance of stolid silence.  Oh, he did all he could to crack through my laconic exterior.  And now, since then, things have not been quite the same…

It had been another blazing day in the furnace, I mean Florida, when we picked up my chum and her nephew (an unexpected addition) for a jaunt down to the nearest freshwater spring for a swim in the scintillating, gemmy waters amongst the gars and the manatees.

The Lad, a boy of nine years, was quite a force to be reckoned with, and was also armed with a gargantuan bag of sweets…a child-shaped tornado, thus, swirled around in the backseat all the way to the spring.

Right away, I saw the child was bent on destruction and found imitating a demolition truck to be his favourite hobby.  When released from the car, he immediately set out to ravage the local plant-life and spurt apple-piece projectiles at squirrels.  Then the child became distracted by something shiny and sharp and moved on to that.

Here he is, attempting to tear off this innocent manatee’s flipper

Well, I had to divert his attention, somehow.  His auntie (my chum) was hopeless. And Sir was terrified of the child.  Sir, wide-eyed and staring, quivered there like a soldier just returned from the trenches.  Up to me.

The human-shaped tempest then plucked up a massive palm frond and began poking at people, plants and now insects.  A palm frond is very stiff and sharp, I will have you know.  It is a joy to be prodded by one.

“Right, time to go gator-hunting,” I said mildly, handing the lad my pack with two giant lemon-and-black flippers poking out.

“Wear this, it will make you look like a pro-snorkeler and very cool,” I said.

He put on the pack and applied the goggles I had handed to him and we trotted toward the aqueous solution up ahead.

“Drop the palm sword and you can wear the snazzy flippers,” I said as we mounted the cold metal stairs.

He agreed and we lapsed into the refreshingly cool depths.

Of course, he picked up another, later…

After I inspected the fish-life darting about the shallow spring bed, I showed the lad how to get within a few inches of a massive, half-blind, leopard-banded gar fish.  Then I showed him where gators had made depressions for sleeping and where a snapping turtle was most-likely to be found.

Then we swam to the spring-head, where the gurgling waters splashed the deep, crumbling sides of the blonde limestone surrounding us.  I took him into a misty alcove where the walls of the limestone were black and especially dank and murky- and where the spiders loomed.

“That one is bigger than my hand!” exclaimed the lad in bulbous-eyed terror.

There is no greater joy than scaring innocent children.

I rambled on and on, by that point, about the flora and fauna of the spring, not realising that I had not blathered that.much with another human being in years.

It was in that moment that I noticed something was different- the tempest child was no more.  He had been replaced by a polite, soft-voiced micro-scientist.  He was transfixed by my babbling nature lecture and was not only respectful and courteous, but absolutely fascinated with the wonders surrounding us.

…Huh?

In that moment of realization, I was reminded of a quote from David Attenborough-

“It seems to me that the natural world is the greatest source of excitement; the greatest source of visual beauty; the greatest source of intellectual interest. It is the greatest source of so much in life that makes life worth living.”
– David Attenborough

My chum and Sir were long abandoned by this point, unable to keep up with the two science-heads conducting their research up and down the spring, as it bled into the tea-stained river at one end, and gurgled up, fresh and clear, from the inner depths at the other.

We chattered incessantly, analysing and absorbing every detail of our surroundings, until a coy mist swathed the now chilly waters.  The solemn light slipped away and we were forced to clamber up out of the watery wonderland before a canoeing ranger could pummel us.

As we dripped back toward the exit, the young scientist suddenly stopped and turned to look up at me and said something quite disturbing.

“I have never met anyone who thought science and math were cool, before,” he said.

I stood agog.

“What, not even your teachers?”

“No, they hardly teach anything about it, and no one thinks it’s cool.  But I think science and math are awesome!”

And that is what left me rattled.

My thoughts recently turned back to those words when I was reading the blog of a blogging chum, Rebecca Budd, and I came across a tribute she wrote to a pioneer of animal rights- Humanity Dick & The Donkey

I found the article affecting and enthralling and wrote a comment to Rebecca, to which she left me this grand reply-

“What I found most interesting was that Richard Martin’s determination to fight for animal rights had its genesis in his childhood. His mother’s love of animals ignited the spark of compassion in a small boy. It is a reminder that one generation transfers ideas, values, dreams to the next. Our actions and conversations DO make a difference now and in the future yet to be formed.”

I do not know if what the lad and I discussed that day left an indelible mark in his life but his words certainly affected me profoundly.  He cracked through.

Perhaps, adding a few more syllables to the conversations in my life, here and there, will not kill me, after all- every now and then.

Home at last

“No one will protect what they don’t care about; and no one will care about what they have never experienced”
– David Attenborough

Happy wandering,

Autumn Jade

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The Swamp May Claim My Body One Day…

Tags

Abstract, Animals, Birds, Black and White, Butterfly, Caterpillar, Damselfly, Florida, Hike, Humor, Insects, Merritt Island, Misadventure, Nature, Photography, Story, Sunset, Swamp, Video, Water, Wildlife, Writing

The Swamp may one day claim my body. This past weekend I was found sinking into the muck, yet again. I never mean to deviate out into those gurgling and gushing, reedy and thrillingly mucid marshlands but something always draws me in.

In this case, it was vultures…

A great cluster of black vultures descended right in the middle of the great sprawling mire below and I just had to go tumbling down after them.

They wheezed and grunted and hopped about in a frenzy as I sloshed near. Then in a great charcoal gust they fluttered up and adorned the palm trees above, their crinkled heads bent with sharp, bilge-water brown eyes studying me, looking like dark-frocked, feathered judges scowling down at me.

I sifted about looking for a corpse. To no avail. Disappointed, I continued on. I was soon slopping along in happy oblivion until the mire became a river and the reeds turned into mangrove trees; and even then I ventured further. A tiny gator slipped away and a flurry of silver bodies slapped the surface of the water as they swam away in a fast flash. Little black minnows danced in the golden, tea-stained waters bathed in warm sunset.

Suddenly I remembered that I do not live in the Swamp and that these ruddy parks always have a blasted time-limit. I turned and squished back toward the great sprawling knoll where the path was. I clambered and crawled up through an impenetrable green fog of knotted grass. A merry wind casually chucked vulture feathers, globs of yellow pollen, sticks and burrs into my wild, tangled mane as I clawed along like a blind bear.

At last I popped onto the trail, adorned in Swamp.

I was surprised when I heard a squeak pierce through the meditative hum of honey bees that I had just walked through as they danced from flower to flower at my muculent feet.

I began to concoct a haphazard smile, realizing the squeak had issued forth from a wide-eyed dog-walking lady that had been startled by my sudden appearance. I guess she had no idea someone had been crawling around in the somnolent mire below all this time. She rapidly gathered up her canine companion and shielded the small and thoroughly fascinated terrier from my ghoulish and slovenly sight. The pair darted away as I said with a stumble, becoming entangled in some gigantic weed I hadn’t noticed, “Lovely time for swamping, eh?!” She didn’t reply…I don’t think she heard me…

I immediately became distracted by the lake on the opposite side and soon found myself in the water, yet again, joyfully fiddling with the camera. Time was forgotten yet again as the sun was swiftly hoovered away and squeezed to rust. The phone deep in my pack tootled but I couldn’t be bothered with attempting to dig it out, so I continued to film as I slowly made my way back.

Then I heard a great booming cry warble across the glimmering waters glazed in purple dusk, “PARK CLOSING!”

It seemed to be coming from a tiny dancing dot on the shore across the way…where the park entrance was…

Oh dear…THE TIME!

I tried to assure the little black dot (that was an irate ranger) that I was hurrying as I called out, “I AM COMING! DON’T WORRY! BE RIGHT THERE!”

He was miles away…well, perhaps just one mile.

I wasn’t very near and the wind was probably erasing my calls, so I gesticulated wildly in order to encourage the ranger that I was hurrying. He continued to hop up and down.

Then I started splashing back as quickly as possible.

And then I crouched down in the water to film a rock.

“PARK CLOSING!!!!! PARK CLOSING RIGHT NOW!!!” came a very jarring, caterwauling cry.

I decided I should put the camera away…this was a very difficult chore as my arms suddenly weighed about 18,000 lbs.

I managed to make it back and even avoided being pounded by the red-faced, snowy-mustached ranger as he crammed me into the car and Sir rapidly peeled away (well, rapidly for a tortoise, that is, as Sir is a very sedate, I mean careful, driver- to the outraged ranger’s dismay…). I was able to obtain enough footage for a few wee videos featuring some minute creatures. Here is one below, shot at Pine Island Conservation Area in Merritt Island, FL. Thanks for drizzling by,

Smiling Toad

Frozen on a Dog-Day’s Summer Morn

Tags

ALS, Black and White, Cancer, Commentary, Death, Disease, Event, Florida, Hope, Ice Bucket Challenge, Inspirational, Life, Loss, Lou Gehrig's Disease, Motivational, Nature, Ocean, Pete Frates, Photography, Sea, Stephen Hawking, Steve Gleason, Story, Sunrise, Video

In general, I live a life fairly indifferent to social media. Indeed it has many lovely advantages, but I just end up spending a lot more time in Nature…being bullied by mobs of roguish manatees attempting to overturn my craggy old kayak as it wheezes through the silky water; or swamping about through black plumes of swooping bats and amorous mosquitoes, with logs of alligators leering up at me through the glorious green murk with smiling eyes the colour of tea; or being pinched by wee crabbies in the ocean and dragged along in the frothy white wake of a rambunctious torrent of sharks and tarpon.

Bully crab…

Sometimes, too, I just snail along a pale, sandy trail that snivels through the verdant sylvan shadows, looking for the perfect place to nest and paw through an old dog-eared book for a little while.

A mosquito hunter

Through all this, me dear ol’ camera abides with me as my constant companion. Matters of social media rarely invade this photo-snatching wilderness-lifestyle (with occasional bouts of city-noir-grit).

I am not completely, immune, however. The Ice-Bucket Challenge somehow managed to creep into my hushed little tent of a life. And somehow, I found myself capitulating, as my friend, Kayla, of the northern end of the county, splashed me with details.

She had messaged me, and then suddenly a video was shimmering before me, and there was my chum, blathering away at the camera. She challenged two people, her sister and someone other victim, and then, after a pause, she suddenly blurted out, “and BABS!”

“Who on earth is Babs?” muttered the filmmaker, her mum, just before the roar of a gelid waterfall cascaded onto Kayla’s head, rendering her a corpse; and a snickering man quickly bolted from the scene of the crime.

“Er…I am that ‘Babs’ I fear,” I said to the video bleeping on the screen.

“You have 24 hours!” Kayla then bassooned at me, unfurling like a resurrection fern, as she began to recover from the glacial onslaught.

Oh dear.

A prospect more daunting than these logs here

Usually, the fads that scurry across the net are resisted by me. I shun them. If I happen to hear about them. I was going to happily shun this one, too. But then I probed, like a long-billed ibis probing the soft earth for grubs on a soggy morn, and I discovered what was behind it all.

“I have lived over two-thirds of my life with the threat of death hanging over me. Because every new day could be my last, I have developed a desire to make the most of each and every minute.”
– Dr. Stephen Hawking (from the documentary “Hawking”)

This was different. To me, this was an event revealing the best in human beings- their sense of love, compassion and community, and their endless capacity for Hope and Triumph.

“Concentrate on things your disability doesn’t prevent you doing well, and don’t regret the things it interferes with. Don’t be disabled in spirit, as well as physically.”
-Dr. Stephen Hawking

I haven’t known anyone personally, in my life, who was diagnosed with ALS, but I am not unfamiliar to prematurely losing someone close via a vicious disease.

How could I not participate? I decided to accept the challenge.

Naturally, this act of frigid, muscle-paralyzing sluicing had to take place at the Sea. An old brine-faced block of barnacled driftwood like me could have it no other way.

So, this past Sunday, only having known about this challenge for less than a day, I dragged some camera equipment, a bucket with some ice, Sir and another poor victim, Thome, to the beach at dawn.

Poor, poor Sir…

Time to be sluiced in some icy brine.

Sprinkled with quotes from some amazing individuals having been diagnosed with ALS, here is the video I shot at the beach, documenting the cold and salty event.

 Other related links:

– To learn more about ALS or to donate- http://www.alsa.org/
– More about Peter Frates, creator of the “Ice Bucket Challenge”- http://petefrates.com/
– More about Steve Gleason, of Team Gleason- http://teamgleason.org/
– Short ALS “Health Matters” educational video- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1X4Af…
– Beautiful documentary “Hawking” 2013 (also on PBS in HD)- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=shbs13XM3k0
– Doleful short film, “Broken: ALS and How it Hits Home”- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8inVFUAqe1c

Thanks for sluicing by.

Cheers,

Autumn Jade

The Harbour

Tags

Beauty, Black and White, Boats, Experimental, Florida, Harbour, Moment, Nature, Peace, Pensive, Photography, Sadness, Sea, Story, Sunset, Thoughts, Writing

The harbour lay bare and waiting. I strayed from the Sun, looming in the underbrush, gazing out at bony masts and old tattered umbrellas, dangling in the languid breeze. The wind turbines purred softly as towers of crisp white cloud dripped into dark sinuous waters. A blue darner hummed beside my ear, my mind strewn with white petals, my eyes reflecting mischief. I waited there, hidden, beside the chafing dock, and watched as boats groaned in and out, as the dolphins played and the clouds grew dark and bruised in the distance.

And at last I crawled out, and was overtaken by a Sea-Faring-Man. He gazed at me with soft, sagging eyes of crackling blue, shimmering through a russet, canyon face. And then he stepped into his lopsided vessel and slowly glided away without a word, sunlight pounding into his white-cotton back. And as I watched him, snaking reflections dancing along the rim of consciousness, I perceived something all too familiar in that depth of grief, that lesion of sadness, that seems to ever-dwell in Beauty…

 

Another Year of These Slide-Show Nightmares…

Tags

2014, Abstract Photography, Black and White, Blur, Commentary, Florida, Fun, Humour, Nature, New Year, Photography, Portrait Photography, Seascape, Silly, Song, Story, Surly, Water

A fortnight into the 2014’s great nascent, and Sir (the somewhat crabby super-model) greets its sunny, smiling visage with…perhaps an ever-so-slightly surly, tongue-protruding, sort of attitude…for reasons…I am rather foggy on, at the moment…

Anyhow, onto more smiling things- some new portraits of Sir and some of his, er, affectionate, comments. Cheers,

Smiling Toad

And so another year has dribbled by…and here I am again, startled awake by the monotonous scream of a clicking shutter resounding through my slide-show nightmares…

Everywhere I go, that sound, and that dark, evil un-blinking EYE bending my reflection around every corner, as I try so desperately to ESCAPE.

Another year of this? It’s only getting worse. In this photo, it seems the darn camera-toting toad forgot how to focus and expose properly. Certainly has no mercy. It is obvious, despite her trying to hide it by “blurring”, that I am bawling bullet-sized tears, here.

Even when I fall down after bawling so hard, she just coldly and laconically steps around my corpse, with that lens probing about for the “perfect angle” like a bird’s bill probes for worms. No sympathy. Sometimes, I wish she would say to me, there, sprawled in the soggy ravine, “Poor Sir…what a terrible monster I have been! What a curse this photography rot has been for you, poor man; why I’ve caused you to cry so ardently you’ve fallen and suffered great bodily injury, beyond that of the mental mauling you must have already sustained!“

Even better if she continued with,”HANG this camera! I’m throwing it in the murky mire beside you there, brimming with some darling gators, I see; or better-yet, I’m going to pop the lens off it in a tree with a noose. Let the birds nest in it, let the squirrels toss their acorns into it- I don’t care, I’M FINISHED!” Yes…I still can dream…

But no such luck…as reality seeps back into sharp focus. And now she seems to be on a “fabulous rock star” kick, adorning me in flickering baubles, frilly neck-gear, leather coats, and shiny eye-wear…One night, I forgot to take off the “props” and went cruising into a little local restaurant. Suddenly, a whole slew of wide-eyed people accumulated behind the counter and sang out to me, “Oh my goodness! Are you a musician?! Did you just come from a gig? We just loooove your hat!” Why me? (wince) I know what’s next…guitars and violins and horns will be draped all over me and then her face will alight with a terrible sprightly pixie smile, as she breaks out the eye-liner and lip gloss…I think I miss the “hit man” shoots, now…

“Oh YES perfect Sir, a bit of a groovy Bono-esc look here!” she chortles at me delightedly through a fog of clicks in this photo here. Not fooling me. I know what it looks like- some nasty creep out on the prowl. He’s got shiny glasses, hoping to “blend”. Here he’s suddenly turned away from a poor victim in order to glower into a shoppe window as a mustached police officer with a cherry-red face slowly sashays by, rapping his palm with his shiny black cudgel.

This seems to only enhance the ogling-masher-creep-effect. Oh why do I adhere to her silly commands? “Just kneel down there, Sir, yes lovely. The light is perfect now,” she cheeps, guiding me along with the muzzle of her camera. I protest, “But I don’t want to look at these ugly mannequins…” She replies, “Don’t worry about it; this is all for the lighting. Peeeeerfect.” A hundred snaps go off. Hmph. Bono my FOOT!

Sometimes, it’s just best to give in and pose…especially if you are pinned to a great sniveling serpentine cactus with razor-sharp quills pressing into one’s shoulder-blades…

And try to keep the tears at bay…And just hope that something else will EVENTUALLY catch the EYE’s interest…

Like this. Hmm…should I?

Or this.

Over time, though, you do develop some tricks of your own to combat the ultimate paparazzo protégé with. Ahhh the taste of rebellion! Or…near taste of it, anyway…

If you are afflicted with this problem of some atrocious imp shoving camera snouts in your face, try scuttling about in circles. Bob your head or twirl your umbrella. Throw a prop-hat into the wind. This works best in low light. Results in horrendous blurring, and hopefully, also in a photo-maker who flails off in defeat with arms flapping in frustration. Of course, do you know what my camera-toting tormentor cheeps at me whenever I do this? “OH BRILLIANT SIR! These photos are absolutely exquisite! So artistic, so abstract, and with such EMOTION!” (Sigh) Yes, that of deep, unfathomable despair…

Another option- turn around and…RUN!

Or try a scathing glare if your pursuer with the light-capturing device protruding forth happens to be a bit faster than you are…Ugh…that scarf! She was setting me up for disaster with that scarf and that bally stupid alpaca hat. Lasses kept bounding up in my face, squeaking how “cute” I looked. Boyfriends looked geared up to bash me so hard the scarf and stupid hat would go flying across the street…

Another tip- hide whenever you can, especially if your camera-wielding tormentor is distracted by a crack in the sidewalk or grime on a window or something. Of course…the determined paparazzo protégé will always find you…I know. They seem to have very keen focus. They don’t give up.

“And so, as I listen to a series of clicks reverberating through this foggy window, I leave you with a song that describes just how I feel below. Farewell. (I only dream that these nefarious images never, EVER find their way onto the great world-wide Web).”

Regards,

Sir

“Foggy Windows” by Unknown Hinson

Pursued by the Moon

Tags

Black and White, Experimental, Introspection, Nature, Night Photography, Noir, Owl, Prose, Story, Thoughts, Writing

Gritty steps reverberate the path, winding. Puttering along, the lone figure listens to the mosquito moon moaning behind skuzzy sky. Scraggly limbs cast sniveling shadow across his face, leather loafers glinting damp through lamp-light ripples. Rain hovers in misty summer air.

He stops, cognizant of Eyes upon him, lambent yellow beaming through the darkness. Then comes a muffled cry, a raspy whir wafting down from the arms of the great live oak- creature nestled somewhere in the down of rain-dappled Spanish moss.

Muted-still, the man waits, gazing up into the dripping tree, listening to the sound of life writhing and stirring in the dank and brittle grass at his feet.

With a flash of pale wing, the creature spills into view, poised on a naked branch, talons curling into deep fissured bark, glinting with rain. Those gawping eyes of lemon fire slit the darkness.

Then, a sudden gust of ludic wind flits through, brushing away the film from the moon. With a tossing steel mane, the man watches the little owl glide upwards and over the crests of trees, quickly dissipating into the darkness beyond, pursued by the lucid light of Sapphire Moon.

The man, too, hurries on, with bowed head, starlight stirring in ruffled puddles that swirl in his wake.

The Art of Rabbit-Charming

Tags

Anecdote, Animal Rescue, Animals, Black and White Photography, Comedy, Florida, Humour, Misadventure, Nature, Nikon, Photography, Rabbit Walking, Rabbits, Story, Strays, Video, Writing

The night was humid and tangy, heady mist hovering in the air. The sky was low and moldered with deep purple cloud, reflecting in swirls the city’s incandescent glow.

I oozed along the gritty path, sweat creeping down my neck. Feral cats caterwauled and twirled ahead. I stopped to gaze at them when I noticed the black silhouette of a rabbit- a domestic rabbit- right amongst a sea of rowdy felines, ferine.

Rabbit Noir

“Are you trying to catch that rabbit, too?!” came an excited exclamation from a female voice.

I swiveled around to face a beaming woman with a crine of giant, lemon-hair outlined brilliantly in the gauzy strobe of the path-light. Her smile beamed through the darkness.

I must have had a sickly, rabbit-besotted look on my face as I stuttered, “Oh right, certainly so!”

“I’ve been trying to catch her for DAYS!” the woman boomed as her Siberian husky-dog companion stepped forward and my hand warbled gently onto the top of his silvery head.

Sir, another Rabbit-gatherer

“Well, I’ll gather her up then,” I said.

“It’s just about impossible! Oh PLEASE if you catch her will you give her to me?! I really want her!” cried the lovely blonde-haired companion to canines.

“Oh right,” I murmured, gazing into the gelid blue eyes of the great dog, his tongue lolling.

A dyspeptic sort of smile crackled across my ruddy visage, imagining a rabbit taking up residence with this fine canine…

Then came a gust, the lass bugling with a touch of doubt about her elongated words, “GOOOOOD LUUUUUCK!”, as the ashen-grey sled-hound suddenly javelined forth, hurrying the dog-owner quickly away.

I turned. A cat rolled into the stubborn rabbit who staunchly held her place, her head poised, haughty. I belched forward.

The rabbit shot into the woods at approximately 90 mph. Hum. Not like the usual wild rabbits that seem to always swarm at my feet, darting up to me in the millions, as if I cram my shamrock socks with carrots and don stylishly-leafy celery stalks behind my ears as a nice accent to my Timothy hay wig…

I wobbled after the rabbit. The air was like still water.

A lettuce-lover

In complete darkness, amidst some kind of inky-black copse of tangled bramble and twisted trees, I was compelled to kneel down for a moment to brood about how to gather up the creature. My hand found itself lightly alighting right upon the head of the long-eared creature.

“Ooofffeee!” I muttered and the rabbit dissipated.

I puttered about and decided that I could decipher just where the lagomorph would emerge, out of this great patch of weald. I swirled all the way around to the very back of the deep patch, where I knew there was a quiet spread of grass, quite secluded.

Astoundingly, my pathetic bit of rabbit psychology proved correct as I came beetling up to the creature gently grazing and barking off more rambunctious cats. One cat, I noticed, had just assembled himself into a wobbly pouncing position.

Some felines fear rabbits, like this one here

The mouse-lovers sprayed away as I appeared, but the lettuce-lover seemed shocked and merely gawped at me. I had done it. I could see it in that glazed look hovering in her wide doe-eyes. The rabbit-charm never fails. Twelve seconds later she was in my arms, purring, whiskers tickling the neck.

See, these cats are fleeing some bully bunnies in the other room

Having never held a rabbit before, I carried my new rabbit-roomie off into the darkness, to soon take up residence with some wee-woodland-creature-fearing cats and greens-flinging, hay bequeathing humans.

Needless to say, aye, the rabbit was most content.

In need of a dear ol’ chum

After some months, however, a depression overtook the cilantro-and-carrot-gobbling being. She was in need of a fellow long-eared companion, it was concluded.

I was off to the park again, this time with Sir, to muse over where to obtain this new chum for the rabbit that had strangely become known to us as Gandhi-Poe Lassie.  Would there be a rabbit at the shelter, perchance? Perhaps we should check the online ads.

We were not haunting the park more than three seconds when Sir spotted a white-blazed, pink-nosed, black pet rabbit huddled against a yellow parking curb. Oh my.

Rabbit Musings

It seemed our musing was over.

He bleated to me, I got out to attend to the rabbit, and Sir sped off to go get a cage and a net from the house just down the way. Hmph. Who needs those things?

I began to radiate rabbit-charm when a human being approached from behind, yet again, and the wee woodland creature darted underneath a parked car. Oh dear.

The approacher was an octogenarian woman looking to vacate the park. Her instant assumption was that the rabbit now crouched beneath her pale Lincoln car was mine, and that I was of in the habit of stowing pet rabbits under whatever cars I liked, whenever I felt like it, regardless of consequences and who I might hurt.

Too cute to stow and leave under cars

Well, I am not one to sway about and attempting to explain things. I am one of action. I decided I would get right to work gathering up the creature.

A nervous first-meeting

I was nervous, however, and my radiating rabbit-charm was askew as the woman stamped impatient feet and huffed to the heavens about the oh so grueling oppression of the Impetuous Youth, of which she readily decided I was most assuredly a member of.

My crawling about and cooing beneath her car seemed to exacerbate her aggravation, and did nothing to entice the rabbit to scoot elsewhere. I attempted to snag, and he would shuffle out of reach every time.

Just a thought

The Lincoln-owner decided starting the car might help. The rabbit seemed to find the gentle bombilation of the engine relaxing.

At last, I decided to bellow and have convulsions underneath the car, to the automobile-owner’s audible dismay, and the rabbit slipped out of the shadows and pranced across the way in order to perch on some coquina-limestone outcroppings. Obviously, he did not find it prudent to while away the hours under cars with humans having fits.

I oozed sheepishly out from underneath the vehicle and the grey-haired woman sputtered a rapid, “THANK YOU!” at me as she speedily evacuated.

Some onlookers smiled as I wobbled over to the limestone. A grin had manifested itself on my face as I recognised the look the lagomorph was beaming at me. Yes, I knew that look- “Right-ho, pick me up, all ready to go now.”

Bunion Claude

There was a hazy film hovering in the rabbit’s auburn eyes. He was charmed. He was almost smiling as I scooped him up and hoofed it home, as at last, the heat was quelled by the commencement of a gentle, sluicing rain. The rabbit, named Bunion Claude, seemed to like the soft shower, and purred in my arms.

Timothy-hay-muncher

And so, that was how I became rabbit-roomies with the two fine foot-slapping, white-cotton-tailed creatures. They adore chasing the trembling cats, gobbling red leaf lettuce, and munching hay from my wig as I pat them contentedly on the head in a sort of rabbit-loving haze.

Cheers,

Autumn Jade

Man Incognito in Bleary Afternoon

Tags

Abstract, Art, Black and White, Character, Corel Draw, Experimental, Imaginative, Musing, Noir, Odd, Peculiar, Pensive, Photoshop, Portrait, Rain, Silly, Story

Milky morn vanquished by the sluicing firmament- Man Incognito slides along gritty pavement.

A lapse in the torrent, and he is a blur before me, blank in the vacant street. I recede deeper into the sliding grey shadows that bleed down from the eaves.

Bullets of mercury rain ricochet upon the fissured sidewalk.

Stooped beneath that drooping, dripping checked fedora, he is hazy-still.

His nose is glinting sharp, dark glasses flecked with rain-

Looming before me like a condor.

His unseen eyes gawp into me from the drear, and there is a flitting moment of strange Recognition- as the sun struggles to dissolve the steel-mesh above.

Then comes the drowning deluge, and he glides on, scrambling after the Darkness, leaving splinters of misty rainbow in his tracks.

A Winter’s Day, Long Ago

Tags

Black and White, Cats, Fire, Memories, Photos, Snow, Story, Winter

I remember a winter’s day, long ago. My mum and I had completely finished our hearth project, with its peachy-tan grout and smooth-textured, ash grey tiles. Buddha, the large, black cat with marble green eyes, instantly sprawled on those cool tiles before a freshly-built, impassioned, late-morning fire of orange ludic flame.

As early darkness swathed the little room, shadows began to swim across the pale walls and stream along the textured ceiling.

A little copper pot with patterned slats carved in its raised lid, bubbled and hummed gently atop the coal-black, wood-burning stove. Mesmerizing plumes of pale steam crawled through the air and dissipated over us.

The room smelled of wood, cranberry and cinnamon.

There was charcoal on my hands.

Wee sparrows and chickadees floated just outside the window. They underwent a final prance in the frigid air and suddenly vanished- to roost for the night in the quiet forest just beyond our little abode on the hill.

We painted together, that day, as evening descended.

Snow was flitting in coy wisps outside and an ardent wind was whirling around, sculpting sharp-edged snow statues in the yard.

Cats pranced about us as we painted on the floor. The wily felines attempted to surreptitiously dip their paws in the white and the blue, for snow and sky; the slate grey for shadow; and the hint of smoky evergreen for glisks of spruce.

The tuxedo cat, Katey Blue, managed to succeed, her white socked foot with the little black spot, coated in vibrant red, for cardinals. She deposited wee red paw-prints on the great slab of wood we were painting, quickly covered by an evening sky filled with tortuous flakes of snow, creating a pinch of flowing purple.

We finished our acrylic mural, Kate smiling as she left more prints on the floor that were quickly mopped up, the house reverberating with our chiming laughter and Kate’s haughty feline chortles.

We carried our collaborative work out back onto the snow-swathed deck to spray it with an acrid-smelling sealant. Buddha escaped onto the snow-clad surface, gliding and sliding like a child, and proceeded to make snow-balls with his giant, furry black paws, batting his creations up into the air playfully in a flurry of snow.

When we had completed our task, we opened the sliding door to recede back into the warmth of the house. The giant cat bolted back inside beneath our feet as we stumbled along and instantly flobbed before the fire in a serene and palpable peace- as if he had never left.

We continued toward the front door with our mural and soon were out in the gelid snow-scene once more, Kate looking on, with the air of a feline prophet, lime-green eyes gleaming through the glass of the side-window.

We set the mural of four gruntled, spritely carolers out front, before the silent white flowerbed cast in blue shade, illuminated in the beam of a spotlight, where flickering flakes of snow could be seen cursitating and swirling swiftly in the night.

 

Goodnight Greetings from the fire-side,

-Katey Blue

A Briny Blunder

Tags

Al Green, Beach, Black and White, Blunder, Carpe Diem, Clumsy, Falling, Florida, Frank Sinatra, Humour, Hurricane Sandy, Inspiration, James Dean, Jocularity, Laughter, Misadventure, Nature, Nina Simone, Ocean, Pablo Neruda, Photography, Silly, Story, Writing

It had been an animated and tempestuous day. My brooding attire seemed to match the weather, jeans soaked to the knee, suit-vest fluttering in the grave wind, the sky above an infinite blanket of dreary blue cloud. We were on our way home and I had receded into happy brooding, the wild weather so fitting for it. And then it happened.

The sun suddenly dissolved through, and the cloud cover began to disperse into a fantastic mackerel sky. Radiant gold spilled out and illuminated the soggy city. Everything glittered. Already near the beach, we hurried along toward the ocean, keen on one last photo-shoot.

After parking, I catapulted from the car. Sir sort of loitered behind. I was soon hoofing along through the dank and rippled sands toward the seethe. The sky was aflame. Patches of cloud beamed a rose and orange sherbet. The waters were cast in a lambent champagne pink. Everything was glorious.

A great oooing and ahhing crowd had amassed behind me, clustered on the boardwalk. It seemed a mutual song was playing amongst them- Nina Simone’s version of “Feeling Good” perhaps. I found myself in the throes of a wee jig, myself, to that fabulous tune. The creamy moon that had vanished in the clouds was beginning to crown at the top, and cast lovely splinters of silver light onto the surf.

And then it happened. A wee little line of water began to wheeze toward me. I noticed it, but was snapping photos, and was half-deciding to let it swath my already dank track shoes. Yet, as the water slipped closer, I found I was also in motion. My body was moving back to escape the water, but my feet hesitated and stayed put. And so the center-of-balance was yanked out of place. Gravity languidly began to tug at my spine. I realised taking a tumble in the water was not extremely healthy for a camera, so I attempted to flail. Flailing, in theory, can help regain balance. I was unsuccessful, however, and discovered I was ever so slowly falling just like a great, cumbersome fir being felled by a smiling, spritely little beaver. Eventually, I landed on my back, completely flattened. The little coy dribble of water had expanded from one inch to seven inches, and managed to completely sluice my entire body, from toe to nose, and even crawled all the way up my erect arm dramatically holding the camera above the onslaught.

Some sanderlings squeaked and quickly scuttled by. Bubbles crackled in my ear. I had just been completely conquered and overthrown by a gentle flow of ocean bubble-bath…

This did not do a thing to my jubilant spirits, other than elevate them. I leaped up as the water quickly receded and I was back upon a glass surface of shimmering sand. I found myself doing another wee jig as I suddenly became conscious of a rather eerie wheezing sound. I turned. It was my audience, er, I mean, the sunset-gazing crowd. A great long gasp had erupted from them in elongated synchrony. All eyes were widely agog, mouths ajar.

It was a strange moment; it was as if Babe Ruth had swaggered up to the bedrabbled plate, and missed the first two pitches to build tension, but on the third pitch, he points and grins, swings, and then promptly falls down, as the ball tumbles somewhere behind him. The crowd’s reaction I imagine would have been very similar indeed.

This pained me. I never like to see an audience, crowd rather, swathed in sorrow. I began to plod along through the dimpled sands toward the stairs. Sir joined me stunned with few words. I noticed that I was in fits of laugher, a bit of an uvid camera poised in my right hand. I could hear voices now.

“His camera!” a woman bugled.

His camera?

“Oooohhhh my GAWD! He’s gonna be so mad about his camera! I bet it’s totally ruined!” a young lass squealed.

He’s gonna be so mad?

“Yep, his camera is definitely shot,” said an older gentleman with conviction.

(An Aside: I could not help but notice all the male pronouns. It is true, I do slightly resemble James Dean, but still, I think it’s rather obvious I’m still a lass…oh right… I understand. Only a bloke would be so clumsy, eh? Well, I’ll have you know I’m the clumsiest lummox I know, and proud of it. And I am entirely lassie. HMPH!)

Well, I danced up the stairs, Sir following behind, and then soon vanishing to the car. I lingered a moment on the boardwalk, grinning amongst the luctual crowd. The song “Feeling Good” had definitely ceased, and was replaced with Al Green’s “How Can You Mend a Broken Heart”. Or rather, “How Can You Mend a Broken Camera?”

I was wringing out the edges of my suit-vest, smiling to myself recollecting how I had purposely worn all cotton today, just in case…something damp and soggy was in store. Peculiar how one can sense these things, sometimes. I believe I was even laughing out loud when one kindly woman bravely stepped forward and spoke for all the haggard and grief-stricken onlookers, “I just wanted to say, I’m soooooo sorry about your camera. You must be devastated. It has to be ruined.”

I noticed her eyes were glistening. (My goodness…don’t tell me that is the shimmer of tears…great scott! What a serious lot this is!)

In my usual annoying custom, I chimed at her in a bit of an Irish brogue accompanied with a series of animated hops, “Oh nooooo lassie!! No fretting, no worrying yer heart out, there now! ‘Tis fine, I say, absolutely grand! This ol’ camera here will be just fine, indeed!”

It is true, the camera was definitely in a bit of a drizzly condition. But blast, I was determined to cheer this crowd that had clearly missed out on one grand chance for a chortle. I mean, you observe a squirrely lass take a spill after a great onslaught of a few inches of gentle water, and your first reaction is sorrow?! WHAT?! If it were a poor little girl pushed over by some picaresque and nefarious bully, I would understand, but come now! Well, I thought it was funny, and I was not going to suppress that.

I proceeded to chortle, immensely.

“So…” the lady began again, “your camera is going to be all right?”

“She’ll pull through!” I boomed.

A faintly, friable smile began to tremble upon her lips, “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“Aye, arg, fabulous! Haw, haw, and how ridiculous that was, eh? Just think, of all the times I should have fallen, it had to happen when I least expected it. Such is life, eh?! I was wading IN Sandy’s surf, earlier today, wind roaring in my ears. No hint of gravity to take me down. After that, I decided to scrabble along some slimy rocks as torrents of water continuously slammed them. Not a slip. So, then I clambered right up a very slippery, dead mangrove tree that rocked violently right over the water, gust of hurricane winds slamming against me as I snapped away with the ol’ camera. No hint of slopping into the drink below. I even became grossly entangled in some ghastly thorny vine, and all the Fates should have dictated that I go tumbling right down the hill and into the brackish waters slapping the shore, but NO I managed to free myself unscathed! Even when I went skipping onto the world’s ricketiest, most water-slicked dock, sloshing in the water like a bath-toy, not a bit of it, not even the tiniest threat of falling. Then I come beetling over here, wander onto this seemingly tranquil and non-threatening beach, and I find myself, well, we found ourselves, rather, if you count briny camera here, completely flattened by a little trickle of harmless bubble-bath. Such moments, AYE they make me adore life indeed! TOO funny!!” I exclaimed.

Well, that did it. I noticed, at last, the lugubrious tone of the great, grieving crowd was ebbing away at last. Smiles began to creep out. Still in shock, a bit, but beginning to appreciate the humour, I could tell.

“Oh I hope someone got that on film!” I guffawed as I began to depart from my friends.

“Oh yeah I did,” I thought I heard someone mumble.

Yes, I left the crowd with a different tune, now. Frank Sinatra’s version of “That’s Life” was blasting away as we pulled out of the parking-lot and receded into the darkling antitwilight, on our way home.

A word to future onlookers- always laugh before you think. What a crime to take up worry when one could be laughing.

Mirth is important, aye! As our Pablo Neruda would likely say right now, possibly whilst puffing a wee stogie, a bit of a ludic smile playing at the edges of his lips ‘neath that pencil mustache (I think he had a pencil mustache…), “Laughter is the language of the Soul!”

Carpe Diem, and cheers,

Autumn Jade