And June's blogger extraordinaire is Erin Malone. Check it all out here: Beloit Poetry Journal Blog.
Okay, back to me . . .
Why is it called the crack of dawn? What's cracking? If you've got a hangover, I reckon it's your skull--or at least it feels that way.
This morning I woke, well, at the crack of dawn: 5:18 or so. I couldn't stay in bed because the robins and Bewick's wrens were singing their asses off. I considered letting myself fall back asleep, then decided--no way, it's time to be out among all the hoopla. And when I got there, up to a place where I could actually see the sky, the light was pouring out of a crack between the clouds. I mean, I actually saw the crack of dawn! It was pretty special, a reward for being out at such a ridiculously early time of day.
It made me think of John Ciardi, a poet who lived on my block where I grew up in NJ. He has an essay about doing all his writing before sunrise, how the day is basically over once the crack appears. Thinking of that great mind at work just a few houses down . . . it always floors me.
Another reward for heeding to the crack: I saw hundreds of little fish jumping out of Lake Washington--yes, hundreds. Completely out of the water, then sorta belly-flopping back in. Any ideas what the heck was going on?
I kinda get Ciardi's drift--here it is 9:20 am, and the day feels kinda done. I never was an afternoon person. It's all about the crepuscular.
Question: if no one comments on your blog, does your blog exist? Does the blogger? Does the tree fall, or what?
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5 comments:
I ask myself that question all the time. I've decided that the answer is, "Yes, because there are plenty of people who read a blog but often don't feel like they have a lot to say."
I'm saying now that I've been enjoying your posts and vicariously experiencing your camping adventures (not being of a camping family). Thanks for posting!
Thanks for posting, Joannie. Now I know I exist, and I can hear the tree falling to boot. You made my day.
I suppose a blog entry that fails to attract comments is a lot like most poems published in little magazines--often, you never know if a single soul besides the editor has ever seen it. So one way to look at it may be that, at least in blogland, your odds of being noticed seem rather good. . . .
Once I had a poetry show on a local radio station. During pledge week, I brought in Zero dollars. It's quite possible that that accurately described my listenership.
Which reminds me of the time I did a radio call in show . . . and no one called in. Lovely.
I think it's sort of like saying "if the priest doesn't say anything, did you really confess..."
And I think that the answer is "yes, he (they) heard you..."
Good stuff.
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