Herding Dogs and Downtown Horses

On my way to work one morning, I happened to notice a cowboy standing under the awning of our local theater downtown. Dashing around on the sidewalk in front of him was his border collie. Black and white and intensely interested in the horse stationed at the corner of Broadway and Third Avenue. No matter what the dog did, though, the horse would not budge. No nipping at the heels, no shrill bark would urge the horse to cross the street. The traffic light was green. Go! Go! the herding dog insisted. After a few minutes of this, the dog changed tactics, running up to the cowboy and barking at him. This is not a real horse. I know you want me to herd him home, but I'm telling you it's not going to work.

Yeats Homework

In case anyone asks—yes, I am doing my Yeats homework. What poem is this from?

Suddenly I began,

In scorn of this audience,

Imagining a man,

And his sun-freckled face

And gray Connemara cloth,

Climbing up to a place

Where stone is dark with froth,

And the down turn of his wrist

When the flies drop in the stream—

A man who does not exist, . . .

(The Fisherman by Yeats)

Celan Poetry

A week after I wrote a poem with copper deposits and silver veins, cracking open geodes, a portion of a poem from Celan was sent to me:

The ores are laid bare, the crystals,the geodes.Unwritten things,
hardened into language, lay bare a sky.

Geodes and Virginia

This reminds me of the letter to Virginia regarding her question
about Santa being real or not. The editor of the newspaper
that received her letter wrote about mystery and magic.
He spoke of a baby rattle. If we tear apart a rattle to see what
makes the sound, the rattle loses its rattling sound.

What is more magical about a geode? The pause before

we crack it open, wondering what might be inside? Or

the "ah" moment we feel once we split the rock and discover

what is inside?

Some of life's best magic is in the pause before discovery.
How long should that pause last?

Balance

In the photo of this blog are five kids waiting for snow. I wish I could say that it was a typical August day in Butte when the photo was taken, but naw. I have too many siblings and cousins who would call me out on that. The photo most likely was taken in July.