For a while now, I have obliterated nights view from my life. To make the best of what a window can offer, I moved my table and chair next to it. What sounded like water hesitating in a pipe was a band of rock pigeons. They sent a whirr of air when two cars turned around the corner, before taking to air.
Morning glory has started to bloom in the parking lots. The bushes must have been there a while, but only the flowers made me notice them.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Visitors on Wings
Day before yesterday, in the morning, I saw a bird soaring high above the building. For the past three years, the only birds that claimed the premises are humming birds, roadrunners, gila woodpeckers, grackles, mourning doves and some other chirpies.
There was no crow to foretell.
There was no crow to foretell.
Whats that on the ground - Melting fast
Yesterday afternoon I was at my friends house. It was raining slant heavily. After feeling its measure, I ignored it when a visitor staring at the rain got our attention to the hail stones. I have seen them more than 15 years ago and didnt ever think if I will see them again.
With the tilted rain, I find myself on a wooden deck. The uneven, isolated stage of Wozzeck.
Later in the evening, I noticed some cacti by the freeway on the red background of soil and found that the roads were lined with a good number of trees. Thinking of this I was reminded of King Asoka's efforts in a similar endeavour. I wonder in which memory stack was this Ashoka tree buried. When I came close to the corner of my apartment complex, I saw pine trees alternate with eucalyptus and thought this feature fills the scape well. Mindscape As Landscape. The choice we make in remembering what we see, in seeing what is there. If I remember the trees by the roadside, I tend to fill the ground with grass in my mindscape.
A few days ago I decided that I should notice something new on the everyday route.
moonscape in Mali,essay in Nomads Hotel, Cees Nootebaum
With the tilted rain, I find myself on a wooden deck. The uneven, isolated stage of Wozzeck.
Later in the evening, I noticed some cacti by the freeway on the red background of soil and found that the roads were lined with a good number of trees. Thinking of this I was reminded of King Asoka's efforts in a similar endeavour. I wonder in which memory stack was this Ashoka tree buried. When I came close to the corner of my apartment complex, I saw pine trees alternate with eucalyptus and thought this feature fills the scape well. Mindscape As Landscape. The choice we make in remembering what we see, in seeing what is there. If I remember the trees by the roadside, I tend to fill the ground with grass in my mindscape.
A few days ago I decided that I should notice something new on the everyday route.
moonscape in Mali,essay in Nomads Hotel, Cees Nootebaum
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Books of Past
An interesting manuscript by Al Khalil had a pictorial representation of metre in a circle.
Mud brick mosques
Mud brick mosques
Picture book on Kenya
A locust invasion can not be explained in words as well as in a picture. Some mountain in the background. Transportation - its speed and limits. Hotels. Game. Grevys Zebra. Rothschild Giraffe. Cheetah's run fast but tire so too.
History of bank.
Cheetahs for hunting bucks.
History of bank.
Cheetahs for hunting bucks.
Saturday, March 06, 2010
In the Head
Headache
Brain The complete mind How it Develops, How it works, and How to keep it sharp
Michael S Sweeney
Brain The complete mind How it Develops, How it works, and How to keep it sharp
Michael S Sweeney
Friday, March 05, 2010
trawhile
Readerly present in Gambia through Cees NooteBoom's 'Lady Wright and Sir Jawara: A Boat trip up the Gambia' in his book Nomad's Hotel, I was wondering as a traveller having broken into the foreign land if we ever stop and ask how the actual was different from our expectation.
I had a route in my mind, but was not sure if there was a path to walk. While not spilling coffee walking is still something that I have to master, with 21 sec to cross half the road, I gave myself the liberty to watch a nest in a tall bare palo verde at the corner. A yellow nest made from dry grass. What would an African weaver think looking at this which is so different from its green house. The medicinal smell of weeds being sterilised, reminiscent of the farmers spraying their crops with pesticides, I would only envy spraying colors part of the job.
The path ahead of me is about to vanish. Ahead a saguaro with its two arms on the right side as an upright matador about to start the bull fight. On the right, a grey wall cuts off the plaza that I know my way around. I wont be far from where I should be, I can always retrace. I had a doubt if there was a way out, but the whole point of the walk was to find what was ahead. looking at the tree accesible to the second floor, I already imagined staying there, but soon realised it not possible as it is for senior living.
As I was taking a left turn, yellow reflective signs turned around the corner. A skinny mocking bird on what seemed the size of a black trash can. The neighborhood had me in its thrall again with me living around. Reaching the corner with its name and purple flowers.
The sight of a bus stop brightened me with the prospects of a trash can to get rid of the long empty cup. Only the soon to be moved stop had a make shift plastic trash bag- serves the purpose.
I was wishing on the pavement. As a field came into sight, the path ended. A red tailed hawk was just displaced from one wooden pole to another by another. Discontent with the arrangement, the ouster approached the next pole like there was a kho kho game on. The first hawk only complied, but not before taking a float in the wind. A tree with many branches announced the presence of the noisy birds. I waited to see the occupants. soon they flew onto the wire on the right. Mourning Doves.
When the hawks flew out of sight, I was still on an unpaved path, walking like my shoes were acupunctured with thorns of Puncturevine. Like a stork, on my left leg, I tried picking the thorns out of my right shoe. Taking turns and balancing. After which my eyes skimmed the tiny rocket weed and another braodleaf weed on the ground. Soon on the path, predictability returns.
I had a route in my mind, but was not sure if there was a path to walk. While not spilling coffee walking is still something that I have to master, with 21 sec to cross half the road, I gave myself the liberty to watch a nest in a tall bare palo verde at the corner. A yellow nest made from dry grass. What would an African weaver think looking at this which is so different from its green house. The medicinal smell of weeds being sterilised, reminiscent of the farmers spraying their crops with pesticides, I would only envy spraying colors part of the job.
The path ahead of me is about to vanish. Ahead a saguaro with its two arms on the right side as an upright matador about to start the bull fight. On the right, a grey wall cuts off the plaza that I know my way around. I wont be far from where I should be, I can always retrace. I had a doubt if there was a way out, but the whole point of the walk was to find what was ahead. looking at the tree accesible to the second floor, I already imagined staying there, but soon realised it not possible as it is for senior living.
As I was taking a left turn, yellow reflective signs turned around the corner. A skinny mocking bird on what seemed the size of a black trash can. The neighborhood had me in its thrall again with me living around. Reaching the corner with its name and purple flowers.
The sight of a bus stop brightened me with the prospects of a trash can to get rid of the long empty cup. Only the soon to be moved stop had a make shift plastic trash bag- serves the purpose.
I was wishing on the pavement. As a field came into sight, the path ended. A red tailed hawk was just displaced from one wooden pole to another by another. Discontent with the arrangement, the ouster approached the next pole like there was a kho kho game on. The first hawk only complied, but not before taking a float in the wind. A tree with many branches announced the presence of the noisy birds. I waited to see the occupants. soon they flew onto the wire on the right. Mourning Doves.
When the hawks flew out of sight, I was still on an unpaved path, walking like my shoes were acupunctured with thorns of Puncturevine. Like a stork, on my left leg, I tried picking the thorns out of my right shoe. Taking turns and balancing. After which my eyes skimmed the tiny rocket weed and another braodleaf weed on the ground. Soon on the path, predictability returns.
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