Approaching the bridge into Indiana on a warm winter day, I am again struck by the structure of the thing, the joints and bolts, the idea of building high over the river. I think about the people decades ago sketching and erasing and probably smoking a lot. I think about the Yoko Ono album I’ve…
Thick columns reach from the marble floor up to rows of chandeliers so huge, so bright even Judy Garland must have stopped and cocked her head back to stare up like a mortal at the wonder the first time, like me. I follow one row and then another, back fifty, sixty years, a century. For…
After a few good days of rain, water flows into the Elkhorn from the eastern hills. The blissfully sedate creek swells up beyond all reason. Brown water surges over the little Great Crossing falls, splashing down into white swirls that give off tall sprays. When the water is high, danger and mystery loom around the…
I sneak in while everyone is still asleep. The midway is small—a few games of chance in the middle with low-lying rides to each side. At the end, though, by the barns, is the prize—the tall and graceful Ferris wheel with colored cages for seats. I walk around it as the sky lightens, looking up…
A few people sit in shady spots fishing, but other than that, Hector and I have the hot afternoon and the pond to ourselves. Hector has his nose to the ground, weaving it back and forth with intense seriousness, like a cartoon dog. We circle the pond, me trying to get the light as it…
The young birch is the odd man in the patch of pines we’ve planted—slender, somewhat delicate, with heart-shaped leaves that reflect light as they twirl. I like to watch the young birch when the sun is low in the sky. The thin trunks reach up. The tilting leaves drink in the gold light, then disappear…
I was sitting at home not feeling well, so John brought me a wonderful, strange bouquet – a couple tiger lilies, three pink carnations, two small sunflowers, a dozen yellow daisies, and five miniature orange roses. In my woozy state, I watched the colors whirl together, and I remembered science class in some elementary grade…
The slim forest feels like my link to the earth. Sometimes I stand on a stump and pretend I’m Emerson, a little teary-eyed. I stretch my arms out, lift my chin, close my eyes and imagine I am a transparent eyeball through which the force and knowledge of the universe flow unchanged. I am part…
G Bebs / Photographs 