As a connoisseur, collector and sometimes thief of those little stickers that are stuck to fruit, I was excited to find a kitchen full of watermelons at work on Thursday. (They were waiting to be eaten in a watermelon eating contest.) Talk about fruit sticker heaven!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Smelling a blooming rose bush, it’s tempting to believe that the roses were made for you alone to smell, so perfect is the note in your nose. And seeing how daylight filters through the ruffles of the roses only adds credence to the illusion. But rose plants don’t grow roses for the sake of making roses, they grow roses for the sake of making rose plants.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Catahoula Levee Road, September 2005
A red bird came flying at full speed across the levee, and by the time I realized that he was headed for my car it was too late for me to swerve. Clock. His skull collided with my windshield. I tried to convince myself that I’d just grazed him, that bruised and a little confused he’d continued to his destination, but when I looked in the rearview mirror I saw a red ball of feathers fall from the sky and land in the tall grass by the side of the road.
The yard around the camp narrows at one end, becoming a winding footpath that cuts through a small patch of woods before opening up again where a graveyard of ancient tractor parts graces the mouth of a meadow. There’s a green-yellow swing-set in the meadow near the graveyard, rusting. It must be forty years old.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
When I was looking for a square of St. Augustine sod to use in my exhibition earlier this year, I passed by a concrete junkyard. It was a big lot filled with trash concrete of different sizes. Out front, the pieces of concrete were graded into small, medium and large. I made a mental note to come back for some when I figured out how I might be able to use them.
Monday, May 2, 2011
AT THE WESTERN EDGE of the Atchafalaya, inland from the Gulf of Mexico, sandwiched between Catahoula Lake and the Catahoula Levee Road, lies a lush island slender like a finger, tapering into a fingertip of bayous. Only the southernmost knuckle of the island is inhabited, and in spring there are more buttercups than people.