chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Monthly Archives: June 2014

with shadow…

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ with shadow
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

Advertisements

motifs…

mountains…

into…

teenager

crow on patio skylightThe crows are back, rousing me from my desk with their racket. Today they are on the roof over the patio.
One of them — there are at least three — discovers a good-size nail. He parades it across the length of the flat, splattered glass of the skylight then back again and sets it down. The nail has something soft and moist on it, which the crow eats, then picks up the nail again and raps it experimentally against the skylight. There is much cawing from his companions and they all flap off in different directions.

avian…

the untamed…

I love…

lamb…

basket…

visitors

crows on the roofOn the roof, the crows are discussing breakfast. This involves a great deal of emphatic cawing and flapping as well as heavy-bodied hopping — small hammer-blows that thump throughout the house.

The crows live in the neighborhood year-round and the roof doesn’t change, but these visits seem seasonal. A few times each spring, they abandon their preoccupation with the sky, with the squirrels and robins, with the neighbor’s lawn and the entertainments of stolen peanuts and chicken bones, to dance here, overhead.

The skylight is a frustration. They scratch and peck at it, trying again and again to climb its slick dome. They are busy up there, defending and arguing over a morsel, hopping away then returning to claw at the skylight and peer down at me with my craning camera.

P.S.: Nearly an hour has passed since the crows arrived and they are still on the roof, doing whatever they do, occasionally adding the cacophany of claws-on-metal-stove-vent to their orchestrations.

branches…

a taste…

architect…

Father’s Day

LRK and Taco - 1964Put off by the weight of advertising circulars in each day’s newspaper, I think about how little my father relished shopping. He would find something he liked — faded blue denims, for example — and buy several at once, railing at the world when they eventually became unavailable and he was forced into change. He accepted my mother’s additions to his closet, mostly without notice or comment, though he was always reluctant to part with the clothes that had been wear-softened to perfection, with their frayed edges and incipient holes.

He readily got dirty with whatever engaged him and eagerly got clean when it was done.

He wore bow-ties for every occasion that required a tie, including work, but vastly preferred casual comfort, changing from street clothes into old favorites as soon as he came home. (I do this too.) When he retired, his ties retired, and except for the rare wedding, he never wore them again — sometimes being the only man in the room without one. I think he was not unaware that he was a handsome man, but never preened or fussed, his appearance being merely another given, like hair color or height. He was easy in himself.

I miss him.

. . . . .
photo: Les with Taco, a brand-new member of the family, 1964

find…

living…

the sun…

These…

The amiable…

%d bloggers like this: