https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/1915/08/a-group-of-poems/306620/?utm_source=promotional-email&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=books-everyone&utm_term=20180925&utm_content=books-B

Two things I know, Three if I can remember them.  First, that Quentin Compson is a young man of acute Southern gentlemanliness and obedience, to answer the summons and with infinite patience listen respectfully with nothing but Yessum and No'me to the ceaseless, bitter rattle of Miss Rosa Coldfield.  Second, that the small ship drifting at anchor overnight across from 7H just off Davis Point is OSV, an offshore support vessel, perhaps built (unlike cars, which are manufactured, ships are built) at Eastern Shipbuilding and waiting in the thick, white morning haze for a berth, but IDK.  Third, that 78F 93% and no air movement but from the tall fan in the corner to the left of me is tolerable but not the nice cool fall morning I hope to enjoy before the month is out.  There are things Four, Five and Six as well, including disgust beyond revulsion at what has devolved, degenerated into, and now manifests as hare-and-butt-brained patriarchalism of USA...

A lovely light breeze drifting, wafting, through makes 75F & 82% comfortable on 7H porch early, as the moon, which appears full to me, is waxing gibbous at 100% illumination, still waxing according to the lunar calendar, but surely will be full today, tonight.  If the moon is not quite yet, yesterday was full for a retired priest, capped after church with Sunday lunch at Fin's Japanese Sushi & Grill on 23rd Street, then afternoon watching a rainstorm to the east of us and moving northward. Told here before, sushi, sliced raw salmon or tuna laid over a little pressed cake of rice, or the same tuna or salmon rolled in seaweed-wrapped rice appealed to me when we arrived in Japan, July 1963, so beautiful to the eye and I wanted to try it but could not get past the idea of eating raw fish until the thought process of why not because had been eating raw oysters all my years, so I tried sushi at a sushi parlor in Yokohama, then Yokosuka, then Sasebo, and was hooked for...

As a little boy in Sunday School, hearing Bible stories about Jesus and children, I used to imagine being the little child Jesus picked up and held that day in Capernaum.   A warm, sunny day by the seaside - - have you seen on the internet, pictures of present day Capernaum? Touches the shore of the Sea of Galilee, and the long-abandoned village has been excavated so that the synagogue Jesus attended on Sabbath is still there or at least its foundations under the synagogue later built on the site. And the house where Jesus healed Simon Peter’s sick mother that day so long ago in human Time, that house has been identified at least by “tradition.”  I’d imagine Jesus picking me up, and I’d know him, my next-door neighbor in Capernaum, where as an adult he makes his home, a place where everyone knows everyone (I once lived in a fishing village like that). As I imagined Jesus holding me, I’d also know who and what he was and is for time and eternity - - that he touched ...

Early again, quite early, in fact between three and four o'clock. Dark of course except the moon waxing to near full is lighting up the entire Bay, and there is lightning in clouds south of 7H over the Gulf of Mexico. So, early, and quiet. Quiet until just a moment ago with the loudness of a car speeding away, and now the clouds with lightning are moving close enough for the rumble of their thunder to be heard. One hopes for a clear Sunday, fair, but with the awareness that One's grave isn't being rained on, One will likely gladly take whatever One gets; and the cap-off is "nomesain?" 5:46 CDT last evening, container ship Seaboard Valparaiso 524x91 arriving from Kingston. Man, she's stacked up loaded: This morning: sabbath for most of the rest of Christianity is my major work day, two worship services to celebrate and preach, topic? maybe something about Capernaum; adult sunday school to kick off, final Sunday the RevStdLectionary has us reading from Pr...

Saturday morning, more or less, mainly less, a confirmation that our ospreys have migrated. I don’t know why they bother, considering that our winters here are an affront to the word. But it’s their habit, custom, nature is the word, instinct. The three new ospreys in the Colorado nest are long gone, birds mature so fast you almost can watch their feathers grow in. I’m glad we humans are slower, or maybe the Time of it is a state of mind and Being. Like Narnia, where I lived in my forties.  https://www.bouldercounty.org/open-space/management/osprey-camera/ https://www.allaboutbirds.org/backpacking-ospreys-following-their-migration/ Facebook and Twitter and Linked In, I don’t do those sites, not pridefully nor boastfully, it just doesn’t happen. Do I have better things to do, no, just other. Post a +Time link on FB most days but no scrolling down. Which may mean I miss a lot, but it’s okay, there’s a lot I don’t miss and a lot more I do miss. It goes with th...

Moon and Tall Cloud over StAndrewsBay last evening, to bed at eight of the clock, almost instantly asleep. Hour till sunrise, 77F 91% a wonderful cool breeze blowing, is this the first day of fall, autumn? IDK nothing no more, when's the autumnal equinox? One could look it up, but One doesn't want to. What comes to mind with fall, first real fall I ever knew was 1957 in Rhode Island, riding the Jamestown Ferry across Narragansett Bay from Newport, thence the drive to Kingston and all sorts of leaves changing, yellow, red, orange. Two happy Navy tours of duty in Newport and still love Rhode Island. What fall means now is CFB  https://bleacherreport.com/articles/2796010-college-football-picks-week-4-predictions-for-every-game#slide1  and even if it isn't always good news for anybody but Alabama and Ohio State, it's always CFB. C'mon, Blue, what's the hold up, while watching to see if Jimbo brings T A&M back up faster than Harbaugh is with Michigan so ...