British Soldiers
- At April 30, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
0
Tiny red soldiers march across the rotting stumps of trees, and camp in the gravelly soil of open clearings. All lichens are a unique alliance between fungus and algae. They die out when exposed to polluted air, so seeing lots of lichens means the air quality is good here. Strangely, some were sent into space and survived that cold and airless world without effect.
Helium
- At April 28, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 2
Today, a ragged yellow balloon lies beside the path. Its ribbon is still attached, curled among last year’s leaves, green sprigs, and the rocky earth. I examine it curiously, wonder why it came to land here, on this woody hillside, where I would find it. Wonder what hand released it into the blue, and how long they stood staring after it as it climbed.
Ploughing Match
- At April 25, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Travelling
- 0
The field is dotted with old farmers and antique tractors, ploughing the sod over in straight rows, exposing brown earth to blue sky. A row of red and white tractors, each one a length behind the other, turns a wide swath. The old men’s faces serious, hiding joy. One young man, incongruous, celebrated by all. The tractors are older than he is.
First Presbyterian
- At April 24, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Research
- 1
The church hall is filled with the kindness of polished wood. Floor, baseboards, doors, trim, piano, organ. Even this exquisite ceiling. Who takes that kind of time with ceilings anymore? It is as if we have forgotten how to look up.
Class 374
- At April 23, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Research
- 0
In the church hall children get up and sing, alone, in front of an adjudicator, a smattering of parents, and a sprinkling of strangers. In the adjudicator’s comments to the contestants afterwards, I learn that phrasing is about “keeping your musical ideas all together.” I have a vision of a large handbag.
The View from Oak Hill
- At April 22, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In The Big Backyard
- 1
In between bouts of writing Cedar and I go to our Big Backyard; while she runs around after rabbits I begin to clear alder and hawthorn and scrubby spruce from the hill where we will build. The hardwoods are tinged with yellow-ochre and red, their leaf buds only waiting for a warm rain before the trees open the palms of their million hands… and wave.
Hard at Work
- At April 19, 2010
- By Dian Day
- In Writing
- 1
I sit here for hours and watch the light in the room change as the sun moves from the back of the house to the front. On sunny days reflections from passing cars find the crystal hanging in the bay window, and flashes of blue and orange light appear on the green walls. Sometimes, that’s all that happens.