“Sounds” – The echo of an axe. Pablo. I helped him stack wood in the shed behind his cabin. He said I should gather some.
Tag: thoreau
“Ditto finds a pencil” (III)
Where’s your pencil? said Virginia. I left it at home, said Ditto. What about the museum, said Virginia, and the tourists and audio phones? I’m not going to do it, said Ditto. Why? said Virginia. I like Concord the way it is. Yes, said Virginia, the library, the cemetery, the inn, and the friendly people at the Main Street Café—it’s a nice town, and more traffic might spoil it. Yes, said Ditto, and encourage someone to put a stop light on Main Street.
“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.
“Morton’s Pond” (XIII)
“Sights”: Sunshine through the clouds. Silver drops on the leaves and ground. Wet tree bark. Mud and bits of leaves on my hooves and ankles. Patches of blue spilled on the lake.
“Morton’s Pond” (XII)
“Sounds”: Rainfall. Cloudburst. I suppose the cloud got so full with all the things it sucked up, it had to spit them out—the sounds, the colors, the smells. The raindrops gathered together when they hit the ground and began to run around making noises and spreading flashes of color. They ran down my nose and flanks and haunches and tail, and found the holes in my shelter I could only hear before. Rain makes it easy to see holes, and it makes silent things reveal their sound. Like the stone outside my shelter that never made a sound until the rain came and all the nooks and crannies sang.