Harlan? said Blurtso. Yes? said Harlan. Do you ever get frightened? Frightened? said Harlan. Yes, said Blurtso. Sometimes, said Harlan. Why? said Blurtso. Well, said Harlan, when you consider how fragile things are–life, love, happiness–and how they’re certain to vanish, and the nothingness that follows, it’s natural to be frightened… but you can still be optimistic. You can? said Blurtso. Sure, said Harlan, we still have a tin of chocolate, and plenty of whipped cream.
Category: Satisfaction is enough
“Morton’s Pond” (II)
“Sights” – Many trees. A lot of last year’s leaves. And oh yes, I saw a bug that might have been a deer tick. But since I’ve never seen a deer tick, I can’t be sure. I suppose you can’t be sure about something until you can.
“Blurtso has a perfect day”
Occasionally, I free my mind to the day.
I feel the sounds, the colors, the breeze.
And I remember this day, which is every day, a lifetime.
“Pablo journeys to the greenhouse”
Over the hill and through the woods…
to my greenhouse I will go…
I’ll fill a wagon and return to our cabin…
where we’ll all live like H.D. Thoreau.
“Blurtso takes a trip” (XXII)
What did I see
when I first stepped up
to Paris from the metro at Montmartre?
What moved
in the light among the shadows
in the columns of Saint Peter’s?
What whispered
in the light of Interlaken
when crossing the Brienzersee?
Why so many miles?
Why the discomfort
and tedious lines that thinned
until I was alone
on a rock shattering the Mediterranean?
Why so many conductors
recording the course of my name?
Why so much motion
when my hooves were content to remain slippered
and cuddled on the couch?
A donkey crossed a dirt road
behind a church in Segovia.
His hooves and snout
were the color of the land.
He was laden with stones,
and was completely content.
In Paris the sun
woke a jenny asleep
beneath a bridge on the Seine.
She was happy.
She had no place to go.
She stopped to ask questions
no one has time to ask.
She took me to see her friends
gathered on the bank,
and we laughed
and lamented the sadness of change.
From the gypsies in Venice
I expected to hear the same,
but they didn’t want to talk.
They offered to read my future,
and I offered to read theirs.
I wanted to see
how they all fit inside me.
I wanted to see
what my hooves had created
with different hopes and dreams.
I walked and I walked and I walked,
and did what the natives did.
I wonder what I have learned?
Was the answer spelled
in a pattern of bubbles
splashed on a sidewalk in Rome?
Was it whispered
in the song
of a fountain in Seville?
At times a voice will call.
It is an image or an echo
rising from a night in Namur,
lingering on a street in Siena,
or whistling in the wind at Cérbère.
And though I go home now,
a part of me still waits
at an interminable light in Madrid,
or continues in the rain,
stepping through the past
on the stones of Mycenae.
“Blurtso takes a trip” (VII)
Nothing like a siesta… after a menú del día!
“Blurtso wonders what it’s like”
I suppose, thought Blurtso, this is what it’s like to become one with nature… I suppose this is what it’s like… to remember you are one with nature… I suppose this is what it’s like… not to think about what it’s like.
“Bonny and Pablo hit the hay” (V)
It’s raining on the roof, thought Pablo. The last snow is melting and the earth is beginning to open. Soon the breeze will be warm and the smells will be sweet. It was a long winter, but the cabin was cozy with Bonny and Ditto and a cellar of food. And the crackling fire. What a pleasant place to be, on the edge of spring in the rain, in the warmth of our cabin.
“Blurtso considers his inner parakeet” (IX)
Is Blurtso still pining for Lizzy? Actually, said Pablo, he’s doing much better since he converted the house into an animal shelter.
Circle from side to side, said Blurtso, shifting your weight from hoof to hoof… left hoof full, right hoof empty, right hoof full, left hoof empty…
“Blurtso looks at the snow” (XXV)
I wonder why it seems that everyone I meet is busier than me? I go to school, keep up with my classes, give my time to charitable causes, and help friends in need… but I still have time to sit and watch the snow. Maybe donkey years are longer than human years, and a donkey’s day is seven times longer than a human day.