Hunters pass, ten things & sailing Italy

No, it is not Paris. It is Tahquamenon Falls in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I did not take this photograph, and have no idea who did or when it was taken, but it is an excellent illustration for another true story in column form. This is the way the woodlands were on a September day, once upon a time, in a place not too distant from there, when ....

Two hunters exchange thoughts ....
Part one of two

It is a warm day for September,
and the maples still hold their leaves,
while I wait, sitting, leaning against a fallen tree.
My vigil has lasted three hours,
and another hour of light remains
until the woodland belongs to itself.

My rifle rests across its own fallen tree
while I wait, eyes closed, listening
for any sound unnatural or new.
I sense movement at my crotch,
and my eyes open, glancing down
to discover what has found me there.

Two mice, babies, roll and wrestle
just as two kittens or two puppies often do
while waiting for time to pass.
I watch them for a moment, then slow
my breath and close my eyes again as I wait
for any sound unnatural or new.

Soft footfalls come on the trail out of sight;
my eyes open; my mice are gone,
no doubt fleeing the trail walker.
Through a tunnel, through the leaves,
I see him now, big, gray, eyes darting,
he listens, then bows his head to drink.

Seconds pass as the wolf drinks, looks,
eyes glancing, head shifting, drinks,
then steps into the midst of the stream.
He lies down, rolls around, stands,
shakes, drinks again, looks behind,
then slips off through the water.

Only my eyes move while I glimpse him,
as he goes his way, continuing his own hunt,
and the sounds return to dusky natural.
Seventeen yards, the distance had been,
so close we were, yet he stopped to drink;
did he not feel my eyes upon him there?

My intrusion to the woodland is not new,
my presence left many places upon the trails;
he must have known of me that autumn day.
He must have smelled the rifle by my hands,
but did not fear, for my mind was open to him,
and clearly he knew my prey was bear that day.

Thank you, writers of the blog ....

Several people I "follow" posted yesterday. As I keep noting, I entered the "sea of blogs" for the purpose of being a reader, not a writer, although now my presence involves both. I began writing as a diversion to winter and for fun. But, the most interesting element about being here, for me, continues being able to read about the thoughts and activities of others. Thank you, to everyone who wrote on Saturday.

The Talented Mr. Ripley ....

When I am home, I generally have three or four televisions running in various rooms. If I happen to pass by one and see something that interests me, I sit down and watch. The question usually is, for how long? Last evening, I happened to walk by "The Talented Mr. Ripley." I watched for maybe 10 minutes. Whether or not I watch the entire movie sometime is not my point, rather, it is this: While I watched, the characters were cruising the coast of Italy in a 30-foot(?) sailboat. Need I say more?

Ten things on my list ....

Here are ten activities I want to do along the way, not in any particular order. There are other things I've listed previously, here are some more: Anyone care to mention their list?

Go to a Rolling Stones concert and throw my girlfriend's bra up onto the stage and start blowing kisses at the band (what the heck, any band will do).

Go to Norway and see Fridtjof Nansen's ship, the Fram (but not for long; I generally do not eat fish).

Go to Germany and swim in the Rhine River (and drink some Rhine wine).

Go to the land of the Rus (Russia; Swedish Vikings) and swim in the Volga River (ok, I'll admit it, drink some real vodka, too).

Go to the island of Tarawa in the Gilbert Atoll of the Pacific Ocean and swim in the lagoon, sleep on the beach and maybe have a dream. (see Marine Corps; World War II.)

Live by the Mediterranean for a year or two (probably southern France; guns, books and vehicles can be stored).

Ride a horse enough so that I actually became comfortable doing it (might take a lot of riding).

Get drunk in Harry's Bar (again) to relive a teenage expectation (again).

Spend a few nights in Missolonghi (or however they spell it these days), Greece.

Canoe "the river of no return" (Salmon River, Idaho; we will put this one toward the last).

Music Note: Listening to Luciano Pavarotti ....
Specifically, "The Ultimate Collection" ....
("Torna a Surriento" .... mellow mood)

Dreams, Democrats, Greeks & Trojans ....

"…. he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains; with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe
He held his dialogues: and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was opened wide,
And voices from the deep abyss revealed
A marvel and a secret. — Be it so."

Lord Byron
Some lines from: "The Dream"

A dream ends; a building never does ....

Before I meander away from the notion of reincarnation and transmigration of souls, I want to touch on a thought residing just on the other side of that doorway: The implications of reoccurring dreams. Ever have one?

If I've ever read any material regarding reoccurring dreams, it has passed from my memory. But, I have experienced one, as well as another, shall we say, odd, sort of series of dreams.

The reoccurrent dream: When I was around 11 or 12, I began to have a dream that I was rolling and rolling on the ground while being shot at by a man in a military uniform. I could see him clearly, distinctly, his face, his weapon. I could see the landscape between the two of us, and behind him. I always woke as the rounds seemed about to catch up with me.

I had the dream probably once or twice a year for several years. Possibly, I had seen one too many "war movies" as a boy but, for whatever reason, I never had that dream again after my time with the Marine Corps.

The odd dream: I cannot count the number of times that I have had a variety of dreams that all take place in the same building. The building is an absolutely huge, log structure, in the style of a house, with three stories. But, the settings and the scenarios of the dreams differ vastly.

This building has been on "main street." I have been living on the second floor, while there has been a newspaper office on the first floor. People from both my past (some now dead) and my present, have been there working. We have discussed work and personal matters.

This building has been located in a bog and woodland area, such as one might see in northern Minnesota, where it was my residence. I was moving about on both the first and the second floors, preparing to defend myself against a "home invasion." The door was being battered. There was a woman also present. I knew her, but never saw her face, and now no longer recall who it might have been.

This building has been a hotel with a beach setting, and I have been a guest occupying the second floor, with the lobby being the first floor. Adjacent to the lobby is a bar (of course), where I have engaged in conversations with a number of people, some known to me in actual life, some not.

Those are a few of the "odd dreams" I recall. The building does not look like any I ever have seen, and never have I been to the third floor of the structure. The only elements always consistent in these dreams are the physical appearance of the building when looking at it from the outside, and inside on the second floor. Any dream interpreters out there?

No doubt, liberals rule the media ....

I spotted a newspaper poll yesterday in which readers were asked to pick the "best" president in the history of the U.S. The newspaper included three choices from among the four who are on Mount Rushmore: George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt. The other four presidents nominated by the newspaper to select from were all 20th Century Democrats, only two of whom even merit an ounce of objective consideration.

Even petty things such as that cause people to lose faith in journalistic integrity.

Missolonghi, Heraklion & where was that place?

Any recommendations for places to hang out in Greece? I'm really beginning to get my head turned in that direction for a "scout," a "recon," an "inspection tour" this summer. I do want to visit Missolonghi, where the poet Lord Byron died and which has a museum commemorating his one-time presence there, and Heraklion, the grave site of writer Nikos Kazantzakis. Other than that, I'm only thinking wind, water and sun. Such is my mantra.

Exit Trojans, enter Vikings ....

I'll stir Trojans and Vikings into my mix today. I recall reading a supposition a few years back that the "Old Trojans" became the "Old Vikings." Seriously. The article was published in "Archaeology" magazine. It offered evidence that after the destruction of Troy by the Greeks around 1200 BCE, the survivors from the region began a journey that lasted a few hundred years, migrating north and west.

Some stayed in what today is Germany. Others gradually continued on to modern-day Denmark, eventually going on into Sweden, and finally into Norway. Evidence cited was based on linguistics, religious patterns and a variety of other elements. Maybe my great-grandpa and great-grandma to the 100th power (please, do not check my math) witnessed the clash between Achilles and Hector. Where are your roots?

Music Note: Listening to Roy Orbison ....
Specifically, "The All-Time Greatest Hits" ....
(Dream Baby & In Dreams)