“Tastes” – The grass didn’t taste as sweet this morning. I think it is because of last night’s pie. I suppose flavors eat each other like one sound eats another. I wonder if a donkey doesn’t taste as good to a deer tick after a deer tick has tasted a deer?
Category: Walden
“Morton’s Pond” (XX)
“Smells” – Bonny and Pablo made a pumpkin pie. I could smell it from the other side of the lake. I walked to their cabin to tell them I could smell the pie, and they offered me a slice.
“Morton’s Pond” (XIX)
“Sounds” – Another day with Pablo. Listening to him talk to me and listening to me talk to him. I could also hear Bonny and Ditto by the lake. I think they were painting because I could smell the paint. There were large patches of silence between the words they were saying. Or maybe the patches of silence were when I was listening to Pablo or myself talk.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVIII)
“Sounds” – The echo of an axe. Pablo. I helped him stack wood in the shed behind his cabin. He said I should gather some.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVII)
“Tastes” – Thinking about eating. Me eating grass. Clouds eating colors. Sounds eating sounds and ticks eating me… even thoughts eating thoughts. Everything a big circle of eating.
“Morton’s Pond” (XVI)
“Sounds” – My breath. Panting as I propped up the walls of my shelter. I didn’t even hear the train to Concord because I was so focused on building. You can only hear what you happen to be listening to, or else the sound of building ate up the sound of the train.
“Morton’s Pond” (XV)
“Sights”: My home in ruins. Blown to the ground by last night’s storm. No more cracks where the wind made noise. No more shade. No shelter. Just a heap of boards. And the wet ground.
“Morton’s Pond” (XIV)
“Smells” – Rain on the wind. Another storm approaching. And something I don’t recognize. Possibly the smell of a deer tick. But I’ve never smelled a deer tick before, so I can’t be sure. I suppose you can’t be sure of what you’re smelling until you are.
“Ditto finds a pencil” (II)
Well, said Virginia, no one in Concord is missing a pencil. No, said Ditto, they looked at us like we were crazy. I guess people don’t use pencils anymore, said Virginia. No, said Ditto, I guess not. What’ll we do with it? said Virginia. If we save it, said Ditto, it might become an antique. An antique? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, like putt putt boats, cassette tapes, and common courtesy. And people would travel for miles to see it? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, and we’d keep it behind glass, and rent headphones to explain its history. So the tourists would know what to think? said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, and realize how important it is, and not complain about the admission fee. Visitors would come to Concord from all over the world! said Virginia. Yes, said Ditto, they would.
“Ditto finds a pencil” (I)
What is it? said Virginia. It’s a pencil, said Ditto. A pencil? Yes, said Ditto. Who does it belong to? said Virginia. I don’t know, said Ditto, we’d better take it to town and ask around.