December 1 (26)

Sometimes when I am not sure what to write about, I visit my Flickr archive. Today, for example. I took this picture on December 1, 2009, from the window of the Carmel Valley bolthole I had for a few years. And posted it with an accompanying apology to William Carlos Williams:

    so much depends
    upon

    a glowing red
    bucket

    waiting for rain
    water

    beside the black
    tree.

A Flickr friend responded by citing Annie Dillard's "Seeing," from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (1974). Here, to give you a taste, is the second-shortest paragraph in the essay. If I could write like Annie Dillard I would die happy.

But the artificial obvious is hard to see. My eyes account for less than one percent of the weight of my head; I’m bony and dense; I see what I expect. I once spent a full three minutes looking at a bullfrog that was so unexpectedly large I couldn’t see it even though a dozen enthusiastic campers were shouting directions. Finally I asked, “What color am I looking for?” and a fellow said, “Green.” When at last I picked out the frog, I saw what painters are up against: the thing wasn’t green at all, but the color of wet hickory bark.

So: welcome, December.