Tuesday, October 4, 2016

the rain is gone, i can see clearly now


Episcopal priest too, officially retired like me, Barbara Crafton is a masterful writer with The Geranium Farm, her daily blog. She does beautifully with spiritual things as I wish I did and could, except truth is I could if I would but I won’t so I can’t, I love reading hers but am not interested in writing it and my blog is for me only, to keep something stirring in the cranium as long as the body holds out. Simply, I’m just not a spiritual person; religious maybe, not-knowingly but habitually, but not spiritual at all. Do I need to work on that? No. I spent too many evenings and late nights unto early mornings glued to the eyepiece of a telescope, an old hobby unto avocation. Religion, liturgy is fine, and the hymns, I’ve given up on the Anglican Chant that was once the center of my spirituality. To be spiritual, I’d have to find a deity who’s less in my image, an opinionated and self-centered son of Adam. I think the P-writer was looking in a glass darkly. 



Last evening 7H was visited by splashing and sloshing, rapid movements of at least two quite large somethings ravenously feeding on — probably mullet, this little inset seems to be a place for mullet during October, which is roe season, and we all know what that means. In the dark water, their flashing, thrashing whiteness clearly visible from here seven floors up, they supped forty-five minutes, an hour or more as we listened and watched, had our own supper of a tomato sandwich and ice water and finally went inside. I thought they were sharks, but Linda heard one blowing loudly, so evidently porpoises, and large ones.

During all that a tug steamed by pushing a couple of barges, unseen but the tug itself a little christmas tree of green lights moving by starboard side to, and another green light at the forward-most end of the long, black shape. The moon was nice too, crescented and in company with Venus, which with a small telescope is also its own smaller crescent. Lights on the Bay and that sense, like everything that moves, swims, lives, breathes, and steams by, of just passing through.



DThos+ in +Time+ 

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