Weekend Reading

All memorable events ... transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphere - Henry David Thoreau - Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me.

I was eating a half grapefruit for breakfast today, but contemplating life. I thought about mornings as a kid and fighting over cereal boxes to read. It's been a long time since I actually looked at the back of cereal boxes - what are kids reading these days? Cheerios features a message about the USO. Very nice and noble.

Aaah - a favorite and I'll show my age. I remember when it was SUGAR Frosted Flakes. Tony the Tiger is still the star on the front, but they've gone serious on the back with a health message. What? Where's the puzzle or jungle adventure tale?

Kids don't care about nutrition, and c'mon, it's still corn flakes with a sugarfied coating. I was rather disappointed in this box.

Hooray for Cap'n Crunch - still so sweet your teeth will ache. Still leaves a sugary film in your final drops of milk. Best of all a cartoon-like message. The big kid in my house (husband Ray) loves the Crunch and it's a weekend treat. Do any cereals still have little booklets inside, puzzles, or games? My vocabulary was boosted by cereal treasure maps. So much for my weekend reading adventure. Back to the Dallas Morning News.

It's completely usual for me to get up in the morning, take a look around, and laugh out loud - Barbara Kingsolver

Wilderness Wonder

I call San Saba the "wilderness" because we drive forever down a gravel road, and the chance of a snake encounter is high. Plus the cows keep staring at me. It's far more fun to exaggerate, and I can imagine pioneers on horseback plucking cactus needles from body parts and cursing.

National Poetry Month is almost over, but it's been amusing to match pictures and words. I have not included my own poetry. If it's published on a blog, then most journals consider it "previously published" and will not accept it. Thus, you've expanded your mind here with others' words.

For one that comes into the wilderness with a pencil to sketch or sing, a thousand come with an ax or rifle - Henry David Thoreau

The Morning is Full - Pablo Neruda

The morning is full of storm

in the heart of summer

The clouds travel like white handkerchiefs of good bye,

the wind, traveling, waving them in its hands

The numberless heart of the wind

beating above our loving silence

Orchestral and divine, resounding among the trees

like a language full of wars and songs

Wind that bears off the dead leaves with a quick raid

and deflects the pulsing arrows of the birds

Wind that topples her in a wave without spray

and substance without weight, and leaning fires

Her mass of kisses breaks and sinks

assailed in the door of the summer's wind