Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Green Bugged Flight

      The sky looked as shown below when MyMrMallory and I took off in the Scissortail. I wanted to practice my landings and he wanted to practice ILS approaches, all accomplished beautifully, I say modestly.
       Then we discovered the hemocyanin spots on the windshield. In other words, bug splotches. The greenbugs have returned. We fly over wheat fields, and during this time of year aphids (of the order Homoptera) appear en masse to chomp away (with the cows) at the delish wheat. Greenbugs can become a bane on cattle ranchers and farmers, and the cows might have a thing or two to say about having to share so much of their wheat, for as the greenbugs eat, they expel a toxin into the leaves that eventually kills the wheat.
       And so, after the flight, we spent a long time scrubbing my green-splodged wings and cowling, but we did not mind it at all, not in the way a cow would mind, for we had experienced the opportunity to fly.
     
The old tree near the one-hundred year old barn.

Greenbugs.

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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.