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May 2005

This image is dedicated to Peter in California. You didn't leave a contact but I'm sure you'll get this. That was the most beautiful phone message I've ever received. I'm happy that you think so much of what I do. It's people like you that make it happen. In Charles Kennedy's words...only two pounds of bird and he has brought so many of us together. Thank you Peter!

According to statistics, scientific speculation, and general physics, this feather should have fallen off a very long time ago. But as of sunset today it stills clings on to Lolaís body with, from all appearances, no intention of giving up its puny hold. It seems to be proud to be totally out of place even if it probably knows that sooner or later it will have to succumb to that which befalls one going in opposition to the other well preened feathers. For now it holds on tight through the freezing wind, the awful heat and drenching rain. Over the past several weeks Iíve overheard many people say that their greatest wish is to have that feather when it falls off. My greatest wish is to have only a little of whatever it is that makes that feather able to hold on.

I eased back into my chair and sunk myself low into it. I sought the shade at the expense of loosing the heat from the sun. I was determined to tune out all the voices that had given up on my beloved friends and tune in to what Pale Male himself was seeing. I centered his face on my monitor and looked directly into his eyes which showed through the twigs on his nest. I tried to justify my being?a fruitless undertaking. Not until I reaffirmed some hope for a miracle for my friends did I gather some modicum of worth for occupying the very chair which I remained slouched into. What must those clear beautiful eyes be thinking as they peered through the crossed twigs and scanned the vast world before them? Why is there no worry in those pools that measure and calculate and light up so many lives? What is this creature made of that I am so possessed by it? A stiff breeze swept across the pond and sobered me from my stare. I scanned the many pieces of equipment that stood before me and wondered what in good reason was it all for. Would my mother approve of my actions? spending so freely and thoughtlessly for no viable venture?
There was a period in my life where it mattered not what I did?right or wrong, good or bad, once it was in keeping with Ma's contentment I was at peace with the Universe. Ma?s approval has long been removed from my thoughts, and I bless the day when I decided never to be as obedient to her as was required of me. Now I seek approval out- side of myself and hold fast that it should be someone who will be my protector should my actions warrant such. That someone should be strong and powerful who?ll guard me as I sleep. The successor of Ma which I managed without for so many years I have at last now found?standing tall and mighty but weighing only two pounds. I at once put my face against that stiff breeze and challenged it to leave me be. A quick glance at all the hopeless faces around me were all erased from my attention and I settled back into my warm chair. My stare returned to the eyes that makes me feel worth... and all of a sudden I was at peace with the Universe.

Somewhere up on Pilgrim Hill an amateur trumpeter was practicing?oblivious to the late hour he carried on, but destined to be one of the a decade or two. I sat on my favorite bench and stared up at Jupiter pondering why the heavens went through so much trouble to create something so big and beautiful, only to be just a tiny speck of decoration in our night sky. With this musing I was almost entranced, and at once was reminded that the big pic- ture was not yet revealed to me. I was comforted with the magnitude of my ignorance and once again the trumpeter gained my attention. I could almost then feel the unbearable weight of gravity, even flattening my thoughts into the ground. All the sun?s light was by then completely gone, and the Fifth Avenue buildings took on a new look with their man- made incandescence. The trumpeter?s notes rolled down the hill toward me, a fire engine?s blaring sirens jumped over the East Wall, a skateboard scraped across the path behind me, and a helicopter resounded above. They coll- ectively made for an awful earful until I heard the tiny soothing quack from a mallard cutting through the long shimmering reflections on the pond. Just then all the noise seemed at once to be softened into a hush, and Jupiter somehow appeared to me so dreadfully essential.

May 24, 2004

May 23, 2004

May 26, 2004.

May 27, 2004.