I walk to raise my heart rate and my mood. To count my steps I wear a wireless wellness monitor – it’s called a Fitbit.
(I didn’t want to go. Glued to my chair and screen I’d rather keep on playing, addicted as I am to Solitaire and constant buzz of broadcast news. I disapprove of these bad habits. I should be more productive.)
Success: my shoes are on, the door is shut behind me and halfway up the hill I start to see the trees and hear the curving cries of jays proclaiming autumn’s onset.
I take the path into the woods, the so-called Wilderness. Shadows are long this time of…
A poem for Susan P. Bachrach (November 1939 – May 2013).
This poem was written soon after Sue Bachrach’s death, by Dorian Brooks, poet and activist for women’s and American Indian rights, and a Radcliffe classmate of mine and Sue’s. Sue was a devoted student of art history and traveled to Germany to research and write about the painter Paula Modersohn-Becker. Her essay of some 20 years ago “Paula Modersohn-Becker (1876-1907): Woman and Artist as Revealed Through Her Depiction of Children” may be found at Fembio: Woman and Artist Through her Depiction of Children. Sue was…
I’ve always been a reluctant cell phone user. For years I had a jumbo-sized Nokia of a generation that still sported an extendable antenna. Since its battery would run down after about an hour I took it with me only on rare occasions and told few people my number. In fact, I had a hard time remembering the number myself. Basically I was happy with my home telephone, or “land line,” which worked reliably and had a number I could recite in my sleep.
However, as my partner, sister, daughters and sons-in-law all gradually acquired up-to-date smart phones and could be reached in the grocery…
oops – another month gone by! time to change the calendars – a different view of granddaughters a different arrangement of fruit – turn over the page and forget the penciled appointments and events that seemed so urgent at the time another month gone by another month gone
another week gone by! time to put the garbage out – seven days' accretion to be dispatched, plastic and paper to the recycling bin, while orange peel and banana skin will head for the dump to decay or not the pile of newspapers, mostly unread, will transmigrate and return again, along with their stories of war…
(Deutsche Übersetzung unten)
Today we walked at Forest Hills, Historic graveyard, well maintained, Its residents, the living and the dead, Ignore the charms of nature and of art. Such pleasures are enjoyed By those who come to walk.
A perfect day: the sun is warm, the breezes fresh; No one in sight but for a strolling older couple – She gives a smile, he glares and grunts – Would they be first-time visitors, Admiring statues by the paths Or searching out a chiseled name?
Familiar with the stony shapes, We focus on the living: Below, the mushrooms throng near spruce and…