Stories Tumble from My Camera

After Writing Center duty, class in the CACT Bldg, more Writing Center duty, a Strategic Planning sub-committee meeting, I drove home . . . with an empty camera in my pocket. I rounded the corner, pulled past the drive-way, then backed "Snow White" into the garage. Mr. Fun stepped into the garage to express jubilation that I was home.

I announced my predicament, "Empty camera!" So I let him know I'd be looking for something in the front yard to fill the frame.

People think California has no seasons. That would be like a woman with no emotions. Impossible. These leaves on our front walk are a little glimpse of the color decorating our liquid amber trees. Cali has seasons.

Now late this evening after a two-hour workshop at the Rancho Cucamonga Public Library, I hunted for my collection of Frost poems in the upstairs library. Some poems tumbled out, but so did a note to Mr. Fun I wrote in 1986. When I had written:

While you are in Riverside on Tuesday stop at the Riverside Library and check out these books if they have them: Poetry and the Age by Randall Jarrells; The Poetry of Robert Frost by Reuben Brower; Robert Frost: The Work of Knowing by Richard Poirier. Also drive over to the Paper Plus and purchase a box (500 I guess) of envelopes for our Christmas Card & ribbon (wide) for our Christmas tree.

I have no idea why I saved that note. Tucked it into my book The Poetry of Robert Frost: All Eleven of His books--Complete.

At this moment, I am lost in poetry looking for something that might accompany these leaves as I send them into cyberspace through the window of Blipfoto.

Good night from Southern California.
Rosie (& Mr. Fun), aka Carol


Gathering Leaves

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

~~Robert Frost