At the bridge of the failed painter, I stoop and check the sagging timbers before placing one foot, then the other, on this sorry decrepitude. It cracks and pops like a first fleet ship, but the sounds are not ominous; more the rattled wheezing of an invalid friend. I proceed with care,sucking the thumb pricked on its splintery balustrade. Ahead, lies the gate and welltrod path and, branching like spider veins, the merest hints of tracks―overgrown, leading to a wilderness filled with possibilities. I stand and consider. Buttoning my duffel coat—a veteran of the moth wars, I step off the path, and into the weeds.
©L.M.Noonan
‘Pushkar Barber’© L.M.Noonan 2011
Our youngest son Oliver is 17 today. Above is the image I printed on the cover of our birthday card to him.
His father is having the full treatment while Oliver waits and watches.
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4 comments:
Bit late in the afternoon for a haircut.
Word verification for today is "knable" - is the word verification system used by Blogger/Google their dictionary of future neologic words - does their power know no bounds?
Maybe they will do a neologic translation of the Bible, just as the Klingons have their own translation.
this is a great photo of your son; i have been enjoying the collage below; very nice, deep; nice to just let a piece of art appear out of itself.
Wonderful card
Just stopping by to say hello!
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