Old postcard-look for the lake as it looks this month.
Photographic and poetic meanderings along the countryside or while flying an airplane.
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 . . .
Saturday, March 14, 2015
Friday, March 13, 2015
Monday, March 9, 2015
Thursday, March 5, 2015
Poetry: Cold Bold
Twenty degrees Farenheit outside.
My fingers feel cold and painful.
I stare at my cockpit wondering
if my plane will start in this temp.
at twenty-five knots gusting to thirty.
Is my decision to fly today dumb?
pilots and there are old pilots;
but there are no old bold pilots.
clear from here to the other side
of the skies but cold and windy.
no lightning – is it a nice day
to fly with an old pilot, Beatrice?
wondering, I’m sure, Why is she
flying in this temp, this wind?
The car makes a 180-degree turn,
stops by my wing. Its window
in your airplane or are you gonna fly?
I was disappointed that he did not
I am actually going to fly, sounding
a bit bold to myself, a bit bold –
Really, I yearn for respect, I yearn
for other pilots to say of me, Damn she’s
a good pilot – and old, too, very old.
Then, he said, I’ll close your fuel door for you.
for the first time – and it is
the first time I will fly so cold, so bold.
and homes warm, safe, sipping coffee
while I turn the key to start my plane
Are we still gonna fly? she says from
her airport, fifty cold, windy miles away –
hoping she will say, Let’s be old —
it’s too cold and too windy today –
so bold yet still hoping she’ll say, Well,
I’m not. So don’t take off, don’t fly today.
The computer malfunction will
keep me on the ground – Give it
Monitors in my cockpit power up.
She hasn’t said to me, hey, let’s
I say to myself. She’ll tell me to stay.
Do you have a heater in your plane?
- E B Hawley
My fingers feel cold and painful.
I stare at my cockpit wondering
if my plane will start in this temp.
I wonder, too, if I should fly today
with the winds rushing from the northat twenty-five knots gusting to thirty.
Is my decision to fly today dumb?
And how dumb? A saying starts
rattling in my head, There
are boldpilots and there are old pilots;
but there are no old bold pilots.
I blow warm air on my fingers,
my mind on the conditions of flight,clear from here to the other side
of the skies but cold and windy.
Just another nice day for a pilot.
Sunny, no ice, no storms, no lightning – is it a nice day
to fly with an old pilot, Beatrice?
I spot a car driving past my wing,
its occupant – a pilot, stares at me,wondering, I’m sure, Why is she
flying in this temp, this wind?
Perhaps, I ponder, he’ll drive back
to tell me, Don’t go fly in this stuff! The car makes a 180-degree turn,
stops by my wing. Its window
rolls down a little bit, revealing
a pilot’s eyes. Are
you just sittingin your airplane or are you gonna fly?
I was disappointed that he did not
tell me to go home, stay warm.
I opened my window and said,I am actually going to fly, sounding
a bit bold to myself, a bit bold –
for other pilots to say of me, Damn she’s
a good pilot – and old, too, very old.
Then, he said, I’ll close your fuel door for you.
I wave from my cockpit, blushing –
look at my instruments as if for the first time – and it is
the first time I will fly so cold, so bold.
Clear the prop –
I say to no one.
They are all inside their offices and homes warm, safe, sipping coffee
while I turn the key to start my plane
and manage my RPMs. My cellphone
lights up with a text from Beatrice.Are we still gonna fly? she says from
her airport, fifty cold, windy miles away –
Yes, I reply,
wondering about myself
being so bold this morning (so bold!)hoping she will say, Let’s be old —
it’s too cold and too windy today –
She asks, Are you
okay with these winds?
Why, yes, I
say, surprised that I am so bold yet still hoping she’ll say, Well,
I’m not. So don’t take off, don’t fly today.
It’s the computer
in my plane –
it won’t come on,
I say with glee.The computer malfunction will
keep me on the ground – Give it
a few minutes, she
says, it takes
a while in this
temp to come on.Monitors in my cockpit power up.
She hasn’t said to me, hey, let’s
not fly in this cold and this wind.
My cellphone lights up. Here it is,I say to myself. She’ll tell me to stay.
Do you have a heater in your plane?
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Friday, February 20, 2015
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Women of India
Sardar Market Kirdikot.
Kajuraho.
Umaid Said Hotel.
Dehli.
Ranakpur.
At a restaurant outside Ranakpur.
Sardar Market.
At Humayum's tomb.
Sardar Market.
I am looking outside from Humayum's tomb.
Monday, January 12, 2015
Tuesday, January 6, 2015
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Saturday, December 27, 2014
Various Ducks and an Olive-sided Flycatcher
Many ducks benefit by the recent rains, eating and resting at the ponds that now have water. Sneaking up closer to the ducks, I managed to take a few pictures of them that now serve as a reminder to me of a wonderful experience watching them and looking at the ponds survive a drought.
In addition to the ducks shown below, I spotted four Black-bellied Whistling ducks, Red-headed ducks, Killdeer, Lesser Yellowlegs, Loggerhead shrikes, Mockingbirds, Meadowlarks, Goldfinches, Bluebirds, Kestrel, a large flock of Canada geese overhead, White-crowned sparrows, Lark sparrows, and what so far I think were Song sparrows.
An Olive-sided flycatcher catching insects that float on the surface.
Female Bufflehead.
Male and female Buffleheads.
Gadwall appearing comfortable with me sitting in the brush watching her.
A Green-winged Teal kept an eye on me, ready to launch if I moved. I held my breath.
Ring-necked ducks viewed through branches around the pond. This pond is surrounded by thick brush, and though it provides a nice cover, I have to wait for the ducks to float to just the right spots.
Northern Shoveler.
A large group of shovelers and teals rested on the surface and in the grasses that had grown tall when the pond dried.
Thursday, December 25, 2014
About Two Hundred Ducks
Happily, the land appears to heal with the help of the autumn rains. The ponds have enough water to see us through the winter. The migratory birds have noticed and stopped by for a while. We spotted (rather startled) about two or more hundred ducks, including mallards, predominantly, pintails, shovelers, and teals.
One of my wishes for the new year is to see more green foliage growing around the trunks of trees, such as the ones I show in the photos below.
One of my wishes for the new year is to see more green foliage growing around the trunks of trees, such as the ones I show in the photos below.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Crystal Bridges Art Museum
A silver tree stands at the entry way of the Crystal Bridges art museum.
The first exhibit hall. I spent most of my time here gazing admiringly at the landscape paintings.
The collection is wonderfully varied.
We landed an airport named after the female pioneer in aviation Louise Thaden. The folks at Summit FBO, Will and Cassandra, were gracious and friendly. I'll always remember them.
Pictures I took during the flight:
Firelight on my phone showed our route and a few other aircraft in the air.
We skimmed above the clouds at seven thousand feet on our way to Bentonville.
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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.
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.