The second visit with the great horned owls. Owls are wise liminal beings that move between the spirit and material realms. They can be messengers between the dead and the living. Driving back to our room another owl flashed just above the windshield. That felt like a message and a warning to be vigilant. 

 Trudy was reminiscing today about her friends in high school. She asked what I was writing. My memoirs, and you're in it. A big chapter, she said.

 This little ring-necked snake came to the back screen door and stayed overnight curled up on the threshold. We were charmed and delighted, and now we read about the end of the snake year, the last skin loosening, the part of us that clung the longest, the story that resisted its own ending, that what you feel now is not collapse, but the last layer releasing its hold.

 On the way out a neighbor asked where we were going. I said The Villages, and he said, That says a lot about you. Pfft! I could have said we're going on a soul journey.

 Work with me now!

 There's a magical place just outside the place where mom lives now, with two great horned owls who sit in separate trees and call each other. While we were watching, one owl flew over to sit with the other. 

 Don't worry about anything, and pray about everything, the throw pillow says. It's pretty funny, these big cats hanging above the beds. 

 Here's another of my favorite things, hanging in the carport of the old house. Who knows who this person is? Maybe no one. She's a mystery girl.

 Tony sporting his brand spanking new Chicago White Sox jacket. We found it in his suitcase, and it was a new gift again. 

 This is another favorite thing, Weezie's christ. It reminds me of the movie Hair.  

This is one of my favorite things in the old house. I remember when Mom said the house, a double-wide trailer, was arriving on two semi trucks, to be joined together, circa 1983. I pictured the house, coming from the factory, cruising down the highway to Mom's lot. Then the alabaster David, and, decades later, this dog dressed up like a reindeer.

 It's good to get in the place where they are to see what's happening with our own eyes. It's a different picture than the one we receive from afar. Tony is spry and happy, but we were told he sleeps all the time. I wonder if he's different when we're not there. 

 There are angels all around the old house, watching over things in their absence, as before they left, until it ends and the angels are dispersed. 

 The first picture of the yard at the old house. I don't recall the last time I was there. It was strange being there in the old empty house filled with the stuff of the old life, and them in the new new place wondering how the house is.

 It's good to be back home again with Olive Palestine. 

 it's not like we're leaving civilization. we're just going to floriday.

In the moral world, when a seed is planted, good fruit is inevitable, and does not depend on our watering and cultivating; that when you plant, or bury, a hero in his field, a crop of heroes is sure to spring up. This is aseed of such force and vitality, that it does not ask our leave to germinate.

Henry David Thoreau

From the river to the sea.

 reading thoreau i remember the good people have always been fighting the destroyers of the ruling class.

 Frosty full moon in the kitchen fire door window. Rough sleep last night and we have to fly this morning. Trudy says she's not lonely when we're not here. Matter and spirit, and atmosphere connecting everything. Thoreau tuned himself like an instrument, an instrument of weather. Observing by tracking the seasons, tracking himself. How long? he repeats in the little boxes of the kalendar. Well, we're off now, into the wild blue yonder.

 I'll write about Thoreau's Kalendar later. The net was rent all day yesterday. The artificial system could go down total some day soon. It's so easy for it to fail. then all we got is books and each other, and nature. Thank heavens for cats and Thoreau's Kalendar. We can make it alright. Free Palestine. Free us. It's by being lost we find out who, where, what and why we are. Word of yestertoday is fugacious. 

 Our leaders are criminals.

 Silent ballad of the fallen temple.

Be little with me.

 

 I'm listening to The Tired Sounds of/ Stars of the Lid and just learning that Brian McBride died. The music makes me sad in a soulful way. I started listening some twenty years ago, in Ukrainian Village, when I was so wretched, and now it's a different time, yet also a sad time for all of us. It's a mark of the art of the music that works in all different times as it's timeless. 

 Already missing Olive, though we're still here, and she's still here. That's the way it is now. Strange. It feels like a dream of the afterlife.

 How do you feel? How do you feel? fine. fine.

 I'm tired for the kid woke me up at 4 am. 

 This, Ken.

 The kid can jump straight up from the foot locker onto the stack of boxes filled with photographs. One more photograph on top, and the stack a kind of vertical oblivion based on the memories of a life no one but Olive Palestine knows what to do with.

 That's alright whatever, we're all gonna croak anyway.

What shall we watch tonight, Rediscovering Frantz Fanon, or Thelma?

 Board of Peace Department of War. Ice and Gaslight.

 They're trying to turn Gaza into an international hub of investment. It already was for the genocide industry.

 where's joe? nobody knows.