We went out for a burrito last night; and using S's new handicap parking permit, parked right in front of Tap Plastics, which is next door to Baja Fresh, the burrito source. The wall of the building is mud-brown stucco and is immaculate. It looks freshly painted, but there is no paint on the edges of the sign, which is of the quite small regulation parking-lot size like you see everywhere. You will note that the white border of the sign is almost pristine.
This is the smaller accompanying sign, showing more of the brown wall. This metal sign is also graffitied but in a much more slapdash way--yet still keeping the white borders. I am trying to imagine the creation of this small art exhibit. What was this person thinking. Why such cramped neatness?? The larger one looks like the work of different hands. And if the wall was repainted after being lettered on, why replace the ruined signs and spoil the effect?? America. . .
This is Ted Kooser's screech owl, also trying to be heard.
All night each reedy whinny
from a bird no bigger than a heart
flies out of a tall black pine
and, in a breath, is taken away
by the stars. Yet, with small hope
from the center of darkness
it calls out again and again.
Ted Kooser, from Delights and Shadows, Copper Canyon Press, 2004, page 73.
This book was awarded the Pulitzer Prize.
Maybe, I should make a new project. Write a short poem each day (for a month) with a bird in it. I think I would enjoy doing this. [If you should decide to do it, send me a poem for this blog!) Today, we had A T & T internet repairman. (A squirrel had chewed something on a pole a block away!) Then we had termite inspection. I had to clean out closet floors so he could lift the door to get under the house. When I got deep into these closets I found paper towels and light bulbs, tape, markers and pens, all still useful. I wound up rearranging quite a few shelves. So I haven't written a bird (or any) poem. And so, once more, to bed. Sleep well.