“Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened…”
from “The Four Quartets” by T.S. Eliot

Dense fog filled the streets on South Hill today, muffling everything, as I sat down on the bench to knit my line to the ocean.  The Urban Hiker was walking the wrong way because he had a shindig to go to at the Seventh Day Adventist Church.  Baja and her dog Nigel (sans striped sweater) stopped for a brief chat after work.  Baja said she loves the fog, it reminds her of times long ago, steam punk, London.  “I just noticed how loudly I’m talking,” she said.  In fact, it felt like we should use hushed tones on a day like this.  I enjoyed watching people emerging like ghosts from the air as they walked towards me, then vanishing away.

october 21 kuan yin

“Leisure and Work.” Even the Kuan Yin sculpture was wearing a scarf…

Michael O. came by with his black dog whose name forever escapes me.  His wife just lost her job, and has started taking art classes at the community college.  Michael asked me if I was open to giving art lessons since his wife’s class is dull.  I said yes.  C. came out and chatted with me, hugging herself to keep warm.  Then E’s wife, G. came over, hugged and thanked C. for emailing a photo of the heather they saw recently in Italy.  It gave me an insight into their yard which has always puzzled me.  The front yard is full of muted tones–heather and grass, mostly, while the back yard explodes with color, almost reaching a tropical pitch.  I believe the front yard is for G’s pleasure while the backyard is E’s…

october 21 camper in fog

This photograph feels like a distant memory of something extremely familiar, like a Gerhart Richter blurred painting…

I asked E. the other day about the glittery streamers hung from the eaves, and he said it was because of the birds.  I assumed he meant to scare the crows away.  “No, it’s to prevent the birds from flying into the windows and killing themselves.  It’s always the robins,” he said.  At the end of the knit, I desperately needed to use the bathroom…I didn’t want to bother D. and C., but I gave in after holding it for the whole hour.  “Our bano is your bano,” C. called after me as I walked out their door…I thought about how free they are with their possessions, and their affection…liberals in the best sense of the word–even though I saw a rifle magazine on the toilet!  (Yes, but to further confuse matters, there is also an Obama poster…Nothing is as simple as the media wants us to believe…)


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