MOSAICS URBAN AND RURAL

In the city there is still the large hill where the street cuts through. If you look down it at night you can see the lights and they spill finally over the end of the earth. Looking up and to the other way in daylight the hydro or electrical towers are like monsters watching and the wires come out from them and travel for miles and miles in both directions. So odd, these creatures, as if from sci-fi, as they stand on guard forever. The day and clouds are among them, and the night also with its quiet firmament that sees satellites, the odd bird, and perhaps even UFOs. 

 

The quiet gardens stand also at attention; or

rather sit, and sometimes a red-bird can come alight on a fencepost or part in the morning and watch the humans for once, tables turned. He has seen everything, and needs a rest. Soon he will turn around a hundred and eighty degrees and take off to the sky, a sort of fluttering rocket himself, and go and go under wires and by other posts and houses to begin his day.

A little further away lays the bridge and marsh. Many ducks and geese live there amid turtles or hedgehogs that cautiously make their own ways and days. Of all the flora and fauna, is it not the bridge itself that is the most interesting character? It has seen all the seasons and shades, the feet and cameras, the rains, snow, sunlight dripping down finally for long hours. It waits and listens,- railings, bottoms, moss, water, cement, turns, ends, steps, snails and nails, screws and joists. It’s a wooden snake, it’s inside exposed, - and it can be travelled on by foot and bike, board and wheels many kind.

What of an old series of chairs that wait in the shade?

They need some tender loving care and can become something in a garden or deck for a yellow or purple plant to rest on. They can become a small and smart red resting place in a room for a book or books. Or, - one can sit anywhere, - say in a hallway or foyer, - and out of principal, just be and exist. Right now they are together, still waiting. What shall they become in their next incarnation? What are they calling to be, these object angels of shade and patience that wait while we go see the sunny spring afternoon?

But none of these are where the working dogs want to go or see. No, of course not. They want the open field by the sandpits, near the forests, in solitude. That is where they can run, play, explore, and be. There are some new things bloom and to everyone’s surprise a bird, disturbed, darts out from a secret hole in the sandpit and across the air. We all look. What was it? Then it’s gone overhead and the blue overhead with some dashes and splashes of white cloud remains. This is where the dogs and we want to be. 

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