Post No Other Bills

 The individual metal lettering on a plank of wood forms the words: Post No Other Bills – or did it say signs? – at the intersection of Route 10 and the juncture to 176 near Green Hills. The Pennsylvania department of transportation seeks a clutter-free road sign area.

   I am on my way to walk at French Creek, around the lake, on this glittery sunny day. The walk turns up no herons, just some geese that go bottom up to dive for goodies in the water, as a woman dressed for the office escapes for a lunchtime picnic and sits at a table and bench designed for that purpose. The lake is unique among other walks along the water in the county because of the presence of beaver lodges and the evidence of extensive rodent incisor activity that leaves abbreviated and carved tree stumps, bringing the deciduous trees to their cypress knees. The water in the meandering woodland streams looks clear and refreshing, a temptation to roll up one’s pant legs and wade, but isn’t it just a little too cool for that?

 The sound of a chain saw cuts into the peace and quiet and a man walks a good dog near the dam breast and spillway while I sit on a Moore-like rock to roll up my pants legs to catch some sun and breeze on my legs.  An enormous ancient pine and a big old oak rise like towers next to the smaller tree types.  A 24-hour vending machine at the public bathrooms says Let’s Go Fishin’ . 

   The woman dressed for business is gone. A man and a woman sit at the picnic bench. They have the right idea. They have sandwiches. The sun is strong, the temperature is kind and the air is stimulating. You would have it no other way.

Candy 543

   Stray marking on printed paper that crossed my path today. No herons to report. Reverse of the golden triangle, sweet!

A Slice of Sunshine

   No herons to report today, a sighting from yesterday afternoon will have to do.

It was on a pile of tree trunks and branches, in hunched position and it was the only heron along the way. A kingfisher was out and about, sitting on the upper branch of a small tree.

   I feel disassociated.

PC Sunday

Personal container is empty.

Tillman TM 1414M

   Sun-kissed and windswept January morning with no heron in the first mile, one in the second and two in the third. All three stood facing the sun, one on log, two on land was what I could see.

   By the locks 11 find one pair new driving gloves manufactured by Tillman ™ with intact packaging. “Top grain/split cowhide” reads the manufacturer’s description, beneath a logo that shows a stylized man merged with a peace symbol in a neo and post-modern a logo that harkens back to and updates Da Vinci’s drawing with the man in the circle.

   Three bits of sycamore and the veins of a dried leaf, the skeletal remains of deciduous foliage are of natural interest as well as a turkey vulture that came down to earth and stood on the curved branches of a naked bush along the creek, about twenty feet west of the fallen tree trunk that was the place where the first heron, Payne’s grey epaulettes on a cinder colored almond body, stood but had left blank on my return walk. It is good to feel the sunshine and the northwest wind stirring the air and scudding the water in the creek, which rushes past the second heron standing stock still by the humans’ pipeline sign.

i Wear

  Someone has removed the foil ovals from eyewear and joined them crosswise, so the silver shows on the front and back and you can catch partial glimpses of the gold that is on the reverse side. Pick of the Litter! They don’t mean anything, it was just a gesture, an action that created this that was discarded and in fine print also reads FOLD TO HERE. I am a lamb.

   There are no herons that I can see this morning, they wear their feathers elsewhere or they wear invisible suits or i’m just not seeing correctly. What I do see is a footprint, a pathling that comes in the shape of a large shoe or boot print left in the soft mud that froze overnight with water in it that froze into patterns of ice mullions that are beggin to be filled in with stained glass colors. The pattern is a deconstructed grid, reminiscent of Mondrian’s early sketches and abstractions of tree branches. The forms are hashmarks and triangles and parallelograms and rays and broken rays, like early Cubists produced.

   Had also found, near the balance beam, a metal coil ostensible remains of jewelry and a bit of sycamore bark. On the road again, pass and am passed by Yarde Metals truck with its steel lettering on the side of the flatbed: STEEL, ALUMINUM STAINLESS. each letter of each word cut out in capital letters, the truck is marked with the numerals 598 and the odometer on the Sleepymobile reads 121512, which has a nice balance to it. I am on my way to a memorial service. I wear mostly black.

Playlist

  on XPN included Simon and Garfunkel Hazy shade of winter. The Left Bank’s ”Walk Away Renée” and a piece by Pearl Jam.

   The morning sun, partly obscured by translucent clouds of vapor, is white orb.

   No herons along the section of creek that I walk today, just the outline of an immense heart. It measures in circumference 30 of my sneaker feet walking end to end heel to toe and four hats with long strings and one hat across at its widest point, making it nine feet. Its location is out from under the shadow and overhang of red bridge, next to the small hemlock tree and trail marker with the Berks county shape. The warming temperatures make the snow melt into the grass, hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away.

Cloak and Dagger Type

   Two keyboard hearts <3 <3 are drawn into the fluffy ivory snow, toward the right end of the creek side bench near red bridge. The bench is a half-round tree trunk, planked a foot or so above the ground.

   The earth is enveloped and enshrouded with foggy mist, giving the morning a mysterious cloak and daguerreotype effect.

   From this moisture-rich white shroud a blue heron flies, taking off a few steps away from the seven marker. A rippling ring in the shallow water shows the spot from which it departed.

   A silvery Mazda Tribute wears a foot-and-a-half long bandage decal low on the rear passenger side door. The vehicle is parked in the seventh spot west of the intersection of Fifth and Franklin streets, outside the Main building of the Reading Public Library, from which the author of this blog now writes.

Tundra

   Tussock after tussock of stiff frozen grass along the road captures the rays of sun without thawing. The earth seems bare. The land is not altogether treeless, but the trees and shrubs are leafless, and this makes the landscape look barren while in winter repose and reminds me of the tundra.

    Walking today by Blue Marsh Lake and the Squirrel Run nature trail. No squirrels were in evidence. No herons are seen. The water near shaley shore is topped with thin ice. The soil retains water that has solidified into quartz-like crystal veins that break under foot and become something else altogether, whole growths of crunchy glassy jewels. 

   Recently saw a book of snowflake photographs published by Dover books, Bentley the author, that showed many six-sided figures of unique snow bits. It was fascinating and captivating as Blossfeld nature studies, only different.

   In the city, the two black and white kittens have been missing for many days; a new grey and white kitten has been slinking along side its mother, a black and white street smart and tough cat. Only the older grey kitten remains near the studio and needs taming.  All three came to eat on the back porch this afternoon.

Neopolitan Mastiff

  Puppies for sale – not exactly ice cream – the blue grey dogs make interesting metropolitan pets and the ramp-up advertising sign must have had a number didn’t quite catch as was looking to merge onto Penn street. Neopolitan: Pink white and brown. Strawberry vanilla and chocolate.

    The red and white house on north third street has a small artificial wreath around one of the clay sun ornaments, so the face of Sol looks fringed not in fur but in fir. No heron to report – the mastiffs are heron colored though.