It bothers me that I cannot fully recall my dreams. While I often awake with a fragment or two of where I have been, the whole of it is quickly lost. Amazing moments, tragic moments, people who are long gone, others who have no relationship to each other in my other life frolic and interact…
All posts by drice
Tunes
As I move about the garden, about the house, about my various chores, I often sing to myself. I am not one of those who you will catch at a stoplight singing to the radio…at least not often. It is more like I wake up in the morning with some tune in my head and…
Winds
As the trash was put out and the patio put back together post wind, Doc and I set out for a walk along Shelf Road. There were no other cars at the trailhead and we had the road to ourselves. I pulled my hat as far down as I could manage and set out. As…
Two households, both alike in dignity In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…
Ah, Italy…the birthplace of graffiti…and one is constantly reminded as your train lumbers into or out of any station. Verona is no exception. Coming from the otherworldly, other-age Venice, it is a shock to see modern buildings and roads and cars. But being intrepid travelers we drag our wheeled carry-ons a mile or so through…
Ghosts
Most mornings find me with our dog, Doc, hiking one trail or another in the hills around Ojai. Of course I do it to get Doc out, but I also do it to fight off the inevitable side effects of aging. Yet, walking is a reflective exercise, for the most part, particularly when walking alone.…
Father’s Day 2015
No longer fierce nor proud Or swaying over some sentimental song Your long labors behind you now The dreams, the shifts, the hours Could not help you express your truths Even to those who loved you. Speak to me now as you couldn’t then No longer seeking your approval But wishing it still Tell me…
Somehow it has all come down to this
Long dog walks in the mornings The garden in early light Memories that rise and fall like June fog along the coast A finch at the feeder, now two An unknown rustling in the nearby grass Earth running through fingers as I engage the hopeful art of planting A circling red-tail casting its shadow on…
March Air Force Base, June 1965
The call came late in the afternoon, that time of day when it is nearly impossible to see oncoming cars or animals or, in this case a small girl on a bike. Her mother had been having a smoke with a friend, talking about the new teacher, about moving back to Waco when his discharge…
My father, more or less
My father did not speak to me Or if he did I could not hear him. He was not silent, but he did not readily share What it was to be a man. Except this: “When you look in the mirror to shave, Always live your life So you can look yourself in the eye.”…
Coney Island of the Mind
Smack-dab in the middle of LA, late 50’s, early 60’s, Pershing Square sat triumphantly as the gathering place for all those living on the edge of society. Sure, you could get a taste of it in Venice, which was still some years from becoming a caricature of itself, but Pershing Square was the heavyweight championship…