Category Archives: Arts

Over Silver Glance and the Long Sky Cold

by Tony Smith

snowy view of sun on the mountains

Tony's snowy view of winter sun on the distant mountains.

This was written by Tony Smith while he was living next door to me in a one-room picker’s cabin in the Eastern Washington Cascades near Winthrop. It describes how 5-year old Tony first came to realize that winter can be long and hard. Yacolt is in SE Washington, and Bonneville is southeast of there. Silver Glance is a remote wilderness area a long way further east and south, in Utah. Tony passed away in about 2010. He was a fire lookout and philosopher. Perhaps reminding him of the Long Sky Cold, here is a picture of the view outside Tony’s window.

Over Silver Glance and the Long Sky Cold

by Tony Smith

Grampa said they’d better kill that hog
And take the heifer to Yacolt.
My grandmother said, “hum”, but she was looking south –
waiting for the light from Bonneville.

Read on

Posted in Arts, Civilization, Prosaic, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

On the edge

Along the rim rock,
The crickets,
Sing from the mud cracks.

Wandering footsteps,
At night,
Follow the music.

Close by,
At night,
The edge lies silent.

rimrock

On the edge.

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To impress the sky

I have breathed the clear air of the mountains.
Where mosses creep among the roots,
Where willows guard the pebbly rivulets,
Where each tiny grain is set with care.
Glistening tiaras to impress the sky.

I went on past many cirques,
Their walls of snow and spacious murals,
Shining down on azure lakes.
Sparkles dancing off their sides.
The blue sky amused with clouds of cotton.

I went on past jutting spires and melting tongues of ice.
Where the world lay below me distant and weary.
I sat by the shore of a tiny lake and dropped in a hook,
And pulled out one funny fish from the bottomless deep,
Would you believe – its flesh was the color of blood.

bottomless lake

Bottomless.

Posted in Arts, Prosaic, Uncategorized | 3 Comments

Tristan and Isolde

Eilean Donan Castle in Scotland

Song Of Isolde – Lyrics by Eliza Gilkyson

Wake up, wake up Tristan,
Our bed of leaves and sand is cold,
I fell asleep here in your arms,
More than a thousand years ago.
———————–

The tragic love story of Tristan and Isolde has been told and retold many different ways. In my version of the story, the love potion and the poisoned wine remind us that love and fate are two faces of the same universal force.

This story began in England during the reign of King Arthur, when a prince by the name of Drust was born in Ireland. During his birth, his mother died, and so Drust became known as Tristan, from the word tristesse, meaning sorrow.

Read on

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If hurricanes were fun

If hurricanes were lots of fun,
And snow was dew and moon was sun,
I’d wish you happy gales today,
We’d shovel mist then sleep away.

If sun was moon and dew was snow,
We’d wake to find the world we know,
Where winter lingers for a while,
And you can thrill me with your smile.

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The Fuzzy Muse

Of all the ways to show sincere
Lending of an open ear,
None compare with quiet noises,
Shared with spirits of the toyses. Read on

Posted in Arts, Prosaic, Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Quest for the Golden Hare

In 1979 Kit Williams created a jewel encrusted 18-carat golden hare, as the prize for whoever followed a riddle to its hidden location.

Read on

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