clean slate

“To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; to earn the appreciation of honest critics and to endure the betrayal of false friends. To appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to leave the world a bit better whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

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Did you see the moon tonight?

Liquidity,

and the shadows stalled into

-effervescent seconds-

I lingered even still

until

I feared I would catch death,

but instead felt the breath

of a new lover

and small instincts took root

splaying their fortunate fronds before me.

The lasting night briefly stopped

and I could watch the wheel,

the terrible wheel

turn

without me on it.

 

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watching the world spin around

I often forget

what pleasure it is to watch the sun go down

above the tree line,

the thick November rust of what is left

of the leaves.

Granite slopes away towards

everything else

in closer to solstice

twilight.

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What’s next, hacky sack?

 I know that some people call it “hippy golf”, but nothing beats 18 holes of disc golf on a mild fall morning. Brisbane and I headed out to Redan Park in the Bug with the top down on Monday morning. We have a history of fierce competition between us dating back to high school, involving those folded up triangles of paper that we called footballs. Basketball, badminton, tape ball (baseball in a warehouse), croquet. You name it, we’ve clashed in some epic battles. We approach disc golf in much the same way, with trash talking and belittling before the first throw. Once the game begins, however, the tenacity takes over and the tournament of egos begins.

Redan Park is beautiful and well maintained. Besides some adolescent graffito, it’s really clean and natural. Open fields, some pine scrub and plenty of hardwoods mix together for a super nice course that is challenging and sometimes frustrating after an errant throw that puts you in one of the many slow flowing streams. I’ve been coming here since the mid 90’s and always have an enjoyable time. If you haven’t played disc golf before, give it a try. Discs are pretty cheap and you can GET outside. By the way, I won by one stroke. It should be called “hipster golf.”

June of Any Year

She lived in one of those old Decatur houses

with arched doorways and built-ins.

A weeknight summer date,

a yellow sundress

anything I could have said

shadowed the gold around her head.

 

Against my parent’s Volkswagen

we ended up in one of those classic teenage poses.

I was leaning

on the hatchback.

She was leaning into me,

her back to the past.

A perfect night,

knowing she was leaving in the morning.

After all, it was summer.

I had other,

well, one other prospect to pursue.

 

“I’m not going to my grandmother’s in Macon”

she said to surprise me.

I couldn’t hide

the look of surprise

as she pulled away

and we were perpendicular,

flanking columns

in Olmstead’s park.

 

Then, somehow in the dark,

the light changed

and she was beautiful

promising

still.

Suddenly she was the one

but my sentiment had stuck

and it was time to take her home.

 

I saw her to the door with no kiss.

I headed home with cheeks burning,

the radiator had threats of bursting

and I missed my curfew.

 

She went south in the morning.

I always choose the wrong girl.

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Glasvegas

 

Geraldine

 

 

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Autumn in the South

Surfing In the Beer Dept.

My local big-box grocery store has significantly improved their beer selection to include more craft beers and seasonal offerings from all over. So there I stood last night, wondering what brew should accompany our first dip into the 30’s. One of my autumn favorites, Sierra Nevada Tumbler, was sold out and I spotted a new contribution from New Belgium named Snow Day. You will soon learn that I am not an extreme hops lover. I pulled out my handy, futuristic iphone device to consult the IBU chart. I generally top out around 65. The brutal take no prisoners hops trend pleases my friend Paul to no end, but I like browner beer. Snow Day has a 55 IBU rating, so I picked up a six pack and headed to the register with a gallon of milk and canned tomatillos. You see, I have this other obsession right now; trying to replicate the green sauce from Tortilla’s, a seminal indie-rock burrito joint. More on that later. Oh yeah, the beer. If you like to drink hearty brews by the fireside while contemplating the meaning of life, this beer is for you. Or if you aren’t so serious, it’s still darn tasty. Snow Day has remarkably thick brown ale flavor and just the right hops kick on the top of the palate. A snow day with a couple of Snow Day’s should be in order this winter.

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