lions & bears & buddhas, oh my
So far this week it's been all about animals in some form. When I had to drive to the local tire fix-it place I was ushered into the hunter-themed waiting room. I noticed the couple of deer heads mounted on the walls, ignored them and just picked up a copy of Rolling Stone to read an article that looked interesting. It was fine until I felt I was being watched. Looked to my left and this is what I saw. Oh my. He was big. And I felt awed and sad.

A couple of days ago I brought a friend to Floyd's gallery and she bought a small wire donkey sculpture for her garden. Floyd's work is characterized in the media as "found (or junk) art" since he uses what's available. But it's far from junk. The donkey on display outside was festooned with flowers. It's made from old rusted baling wire, "some of it more than 40 years old" we were told. And since Floyd has been part of a ranching family for most of his life he manages to capture the essence of whatever animal he's working on. It's pretty amazing stuff. His Des Montes Gallery is located on the Hondo-Seco Road and well worth a trip if you're in the area. 

But the best animal of all is this version of Dante The Lion King. 

Dante (great grandson) is currently living within his favorite character. This kid who is not three years old yet started nursery school a couple of weeks ago with confidence and enthusiasm (and a backpack). On my birthday he sang: happy birthday greatgrammies. I miss him.

feet firmly planted in air?
After a half day of work today and all of yesterday, I took off this afternoon to meet a friend who is a great editor and with whom I planned to discuss my next writing project. Gorgeous day at Wired cafe. I sat outside under the trees in cool breezes, warm sun, cobalt sky, fluffy white clouds, sound of bamboo water fountain playing out melodically nearby. But he didn't show up. Not a tragedy as I spent an hour with tea and notebook. But he was a definite no show and he and I will discuss it at another time. You just can't trust fiction writers to remember things. The atmosphere of the cafe helped me to stay calm and I actually had a lovely time for myself.

   The stone fountain
was pouring out its eternal
fountain of story.

             *******

   The peaceable fountain
continues telling its things;
the history lost,
the pain has found words.
            (excerpts from Antonio Machado)