All cartoons are easily found online. May each artist live forever.
Recently at one of the farmers markets I sell at, a woman and a teenage boy approached my stand, paused for a moment to whisper together, and then stepped forward. The boy was maybe seventeen, the woman in her mid-sixties. I couldn’t place their relationship. The boy spoke for them, and he was shy.
“We were just wondering,” he said, “about those peas. If they’re the edible pod kind.”
I said they were, and taking a pea from a bowl full of them, I held it up, called it a snap pea, and showed them how to remove the string. Then I ate it.
“Would you like to try one?” I asked.
They both shook their heads no. But then the boy immediately changed his mind and said yes. And he followed through. He selected a pea, and, removing its string, popped it into his mouth. The woman and I watched him.
“The funny thing is,” he said, “is how we were just talking about this. I said you can eat the pods, she said no you can’t.“ We laughed, and I noticed the boy had a habit of rocking on his toes. Every time he said something, he would lift himself with his toes.
Another thing I noticed (I had picked up on this immediately) was the kid’s shirt. He was wearing an oversized, black tee shirt. And plastered in huge on the shirt from the collar down to the hem was a yellow image of a menacing young man giving the world the middle finger. The finger was gigantic. It was the largest middle finger I’d ever seen. When the boy had reached for his sample pea, that finger was inches from my face. Continue reading
A prophesied, ten-hour rain gathered in the night, stuttered a few times, false started, but now she goes, headlong and driving, and the earth, the proverbially good earth, doth receive her.
Two days ago when I was driving to Epping, in a space of about fifteen seconds I saw a farmer step out from his truck, walk purposefully a few steps into his field, drop to his knees, and immediately begin digging in the soil with his hands. Continue reading
From where I live on Saddleback Mountain the sky is blue as purest love just now. From west across to east, from north across to south, it’s the blue original, the blue Eve knew, the blue you wish of your friends, of your lover, of your song, this rarest of blue in perfect certainty.
OR THIS ONE Continue reading
At the convenience store awhile ago, a car pulled in next to mine and it was a grandmother driving and in back in a car seat, a grandson. The woman was maybe forty, the boy three, and after parking and gathering themselves, they went together into the store and I thought nothing more of them.
But then they came out again, slowly. The grandmother was holding the kid in one hand and a supersized Polar Pop in the other. Coming around to the passenger side of her car, the grandmother reached through the front window and placed the Polar Pop on the dashboard, opened the back door, strapped in the kid, closed the door, and then walked around and got into her car and started it. And then, reaching for the Polar Pop and twisting around as best she could, she handed it off to her grandson.
“It’s all yours honey,” she said. “Mine you don’t drop it.” Continue reading