pink lem

Carmen Fantasy, a tangy rousing arrangement of the music of Bizet by Waxman, played on the radio while preparing for a walk this morning. The sky was blue. The sun was up!

The plan was to walk to the four marker. On the way, near marker W lay a bottle cap. Because some but not all of the blue the metal trinket showed and a jogger was running behind the person who composes this account, a decision was made to retrieve it on the way back so as not to be run over by, or disturb the path of, the running woman, who wore thin-soled shoes that created wonder in her wake how people can wear them in places where there are sticks and stones.

A brief while later, a recognizable figure came walking toward the observer of these events on the path. It was Victor. When asked how he was bowling, he said he had to give it up for a while because he broke his leg about three months ago. His recovery is going pretty well – he is up and about having worn a soft cast that was recently removed. His doctor will help him decide if the cast needs to go back on for another three weeks. Once you get in to a pattern of walking, you can go stir crazy without the outlet of outdoor exercise.

On to the four marker, downstream, went the writer of this report. Victor headed along the creek in an upstream direction.

When said writer turned around and headed back, the partially-embedded bottle cap she picked up had a big V on it. More letters around the upper circumference spelled Victory. Several stars studded the sides along the large V.

Victor and this writer met up again, both travelling upstream. A big happy shrieking alert came out from the stream and the woods. It was not a heron that made the sound.

A bird of prey – hawk?- flapped its wings to carry its catch somewhere like home. Its talons held a troutlike fish body. The head and tail of the fish bent and dipped downward as much as gravity could grip back on these parts. The catch was good-sized fish, a foot long if one can judge the length from a distance. The bird’s wings span made it seem like an eagle.

On the asphalt on the way up to the parking area lay half a pink crayon from Bob E and it was pink (word fragment:) lem. This for the file: things that get broken.

Do Not Touch God

Courtesy of the Reading Library and the extension of lending privileges, over the weekend watched two DVD’s: The Asphalt Jungle and Septien. Although these are two totally different films they get rousing recommendations and wholehearted endorsements from the Heron Report.

The reason they are totally different is one is black and white and one is in color.

The reason you might find them interesting is that they are interesting.

The reason to watch them is they are well-done on all counts. One is old. One is new. One is city, the other is country.

Both depict human relationships – the first mapped out and completed with flawless execution by director John Huston, right down to the last blade of bluegrass; the second is absorbing and allows time to reflect its unexpected and sensitive content, down to the fuzzy warm football, from Director Michael Tully.

ANOINTED