Sky High Wonder

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is WONDER. And I may just get under the wire, since daughter Candace and I took advantage of this glorious warm day for a wheelchair trip (Candy pushing, me riding)around the Marina paths through the territory where folk were flying kites, walking dogs, picnicking, and shedding their winter wear.

Candy with kites just showing over hilltop.

Fathers were launching kites with the "help" of excited children.

Big Dog.

And what child's sense of wonder could fail him at the sight of this humongous dog floating above him or her? They ran back and forth beneath him shouuting with laughter, trying to catch a giant paw. While this is literally a kite filled only with breezes from the bay through that flapping slit between his eyes, it's greater weight required a booster kite, at a much greater height, buoying it up.

Booster Kite,

Nor were children the only ones taking part in the joy and wonder of kites! Here are a few other kite photos taken today. Many may be practicing for the renowned Berkeley Kite Festival, which takes place in July.

Here are a few more kites sighted today:

Airplane kite

There were many rotating kites.

Dragon rising.

And then there were the ground squirrels everywhere. A sign at the entrance to the walks warns "Please don't feed the squirrels." It seems that the park is suffering from squirrel over-population. Well, here are a few of the little varmints:

One squirrel...

Two squirrels...

And so it goes. And the squirrel population grows and grows. For some other blogs participating in Sunday Scribblings (probably not submitted as late as this one) click on links or banner.

M is Mythic Beasts

M is the letter to which Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday round 6 has advanced. To enjoy other posts of M, follow the above link or click on the banner.

OF MYTHIC BEASTS

I’ve never tried to trap a unicorn.
It’s not more graceful, say, than a gazelle,
an earthly beast I’m sure would do as well;
and what’s so great about a single horn?
Nor have I tried to snare a horse with wings.
I’ve flown across the sky, but in a jet.
I see no earthly use for such a pet;
I’ll save my sugar cubes to sweeten things.

But dragons! Ah, now that’s a different story:
great flailing tails that slither, thrash, and crash,
tough armored scales to hide the wicked core,
the iridescent wings a blue-black glory,
the knobbly claws whose talons rake and slash!
My favored mythic beasts breathe fire, and roar!

Just in case you don't believe me, above is one proof of my loyalty to dragons.

Below, however, is my favorite dragon.
I have done animations of him, but
have not found a way to upload animations to blogspot.

Of course he flies by day and night and once had a home in a cave with other dragons.

He also has a wife named Trog. Here is a picture of her on her wedding day.

As I was just saying...

The prompt for Sunday Scribblings is "deadline".


Really! I am visiting in Port Townsend, where, in Otto and Kristin's house (not the separate building with music studio and Otto's office), there is no printer. Kristin is trying to put together a box of gifties to send to Johnny and Pookie in Thailand, and only my gift is lacking its tag. Otto is out in his office, so I e-mailed the design below for him to print, then cell-phoned him to tell him it was on his e-mail. But he, too, has a time problem in that he is in the midst of down-loading some programs!


I am notoriously late with birthday greetings, even though they are printed right there on my calendar. I missed your birthday yesterday, granddaughter Ruthie. Happy belated birthday! The next gift I send will be a wedding gift! I am determined to remember that granddaughters Anna and Gwen have April birthdays. Or have I already missed yours, Gwen?

A happy deadline is May 15 when the tenant in the little house across from the Otto Smiths will have vacated it and I can begin moving my "new" (acquired at Goodwill and Habitat for Humanity thrift stores) furniture into what will be my part-time home. I will still keep my Berkeley house, at least for the near future.

The prompt today could not have been more relevant! For more responses to it, go to Sunday Scribblings.

K is for Keen Kinetic Key to Independence

K is the letter of the week.

Keen Kinetic Key

Granny Smith rides again
on the streets of Port Townsend!

My Keen Kinetic new electric wheelchair means that I have the independence to go places without the constant accompaniment of someone else. Even though their companionship might be delightful and welcome at times, I don't want to need someone to go with me when I just want to enjoy the blossoms and dandelion-studded lawns of Port Townsend WA where I am visiting (see photo above). What a lift to the spirits!

Southwest Airlines has added even another Keen Kinetic Key to my independence. When I fly to and from Berkeley and Port Townsend I drive my happiness vehicle straight through Oakland airport or SeaTac right to the door of the plane where a flight attendant helps me to a seat while my wheelchair is whisked away to be loaded as cargo. At the end of the flight the process will reverse itself and my wheelchair will soon appear at the door of the plane. (This is my completely voluntary and guaranteed non-paid tribute to an airline that not only carries my wheelchair at no extra charge but also doesn't charge anyone for the normal number of checked bags unless the bags are overweight.)

(image lifted from Southwest Airlines Website)

For other interpretations of the letter K go to ABC Wednesday.

Wish

the Sunday Scribblings prompt is fluent.

This is not a new poem, but I think it is appropriate for the prompt and I don't feel quite up to writing something new since I am still recovering from pneumonia. By some odd quirk of previous work on another computer with now out-dated programs, this was stored as a graphic rather a writing program. I hope you can read it! Of course I should copy it instead of pasting, but I have only my little netbook with me - and, yeah, it seems like a little too much work!

Message to Poets

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is "message". I am using a self-invented form of rhyme in these couplets, even in the two line title. See if you can figure it out, and let me know if you find it effective.

TO POETS LEST
THEY FAIL TO SELL IT

Sing not of poison oak or sticker.
The sunlit meadow plays no tricks.

Hear note of lark or bee and sing it.
Ignore the broken wing or sting.

Reject vast emptiness of ocean.
Its rosy shells are better shown.

Man’s poisoned air may choke and stifle
Sing only of impassioned flights.

For gloomy word be reprimanded.
Don’t let it slip that man is damned.

This bent brown child convulsed with rickets?
Try gentler views, more wisely risked.

Avert your eyes from floorless chasm.
Erect for skulls a smiling mask.

Milestone

Milestones can be happy or sad, personal or universal. The one I choose today, as a response to the Sunday scribblings prompt of Milestone, is a distant echo of the time when my brother's death left me the sole survivor of my family. I had mourned the deaths of father, mother, grandmother's, uncles and aunts. But I thought that my younger brother would always be there to share my memories of our experiences together.

Allen Sterling Jr.
Graduation from high school photo.

TO ALLEN
Berkeley is cool today
fog drifting through the redwood branches
and dimming far trees.
They have the subtle look of Japanese prints.
I hug my soft warm robe about me;
I’ve worn it now for more than twenty years,
this gift from you, my brother.
When long ago I undid its glittery Christmas wrappings
I saw it through my tears
Your generous heart had stopped
before you could bring my gift to the Christmas feast.
The long folds of the robe felt then
- and still feel now -
like your warm embrace.
The velvet plush is worn in spots,
embroidery designs on sleeve-ends almost gone.
I cuddle in it on this cool day
and think of you.

I remember not the man
you grew to be but you, my little brother:
with me in the back seat of the Chrysler,
our heads together as we slept away
the hot desert night,
motor hum our lullaby;
playing in the Tuolomne river at summer camp,
flirting with the dangerous rapids
with our swimming lesson over and lifeguard gone;
in the backyard with pierced-lid jars
to catch the bees that buzzed the blackberry bushes
- one point for each honeybee, five points for a bumblebee;
standing in the long line for the Saturday matinee
at the Oaks Theater - then -
the cartoon
the serial
Fox Movietone news
the sing-along with its little bouncing ball
and finally Tom Mix
- and you beside me, hardly noticed.

I thought you would always be there,
my younger brother
with whom I could remember.

Now I tightly wrap my plushy robe around me.

It keeps me warm.

Phyllis Sterling Smith