When they said full of beans
you bet they sure knew something
Because beans give it all they've got
about Jack et cetera
(a hill of beans by the way
Is really something
at the height of summer)
Drop a bean on the ground
and do nothing
and it grows
(if we lived someplace warmer)
would grow some more even then
Straight out of the new pods
pushing their way
damp with autumn rains and
Because pulling them out brings a certain kind of hesitation
See when they first came up
Their leaves were these little green hearts
Pointing this way and that in the soft brown
Maybe the hope that springs
from a garden box of beans
gives a friendly shove
to see us through
An unusual moment, the burning rim of the sun just now dipped behind the mountain range. A bare breath later and the light had changed completely, revealing an entirely new landscape.
Just a quick photo, but perhaps also a reminiscence of the sweeping landscapes once painted in oils by artists like Thomas Cole and Frederic Church, who were also fascinated by the river some century or so ago.
A surprising find in the carrot greens, these quite large and very vibrant caterpillars. Their size and neon coloring were very unexpected, like something one might see in a rain forest instead.
So, leaving them there to continue their quiet doings, deep and safe in the green fronds. And waiting to see just what they might transform into . . .
A visit to the Clark for the Picasso exhibition generated within us a special kind of alertness, particularly for visual experiencing. And the extraordinary overall aesthetics of the Clark itself kept this experience lively for us, as we emerged from the gallery into a narrow hall floored with dark grey stone.
The day was a grey one as well, and we sat down there in the hall, on little gold-brown beechwood cubes, and we looked out through floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the rain fall into the very large reflecting pool there.
The pattern of endless falling raindrops over the vast water was irresistible.
Later, on the bookshelves in the store, we discovered a copy of The Unknown Craftsman, A Japanese Insight into Beauty, by Sōetsu Yanagi, and translated by Bernard Leach. Opening it to discover this following observation in an essay called "The Way of Tea."
"Though everyone says he sees things, how few can see things as they are. Among those few are found the early masters of the Way of Tea. They had deep-seeing eyes. They could comprehend intuitively. And with this penetration, they saw truth.
What was their way of seeing? They saw directly. Most people look through some medium, generally interposing thoughts, personal tastes, and habits between the eye and the object. Assuredly, the result is different points of view, but it is quite another thing to see directly. Seeing directly constitutes a direct communion between the eye and the object. Unless a thing is seen without mediation, it cannot be grasped."
Meanwhile, on the way there and on the way back, these windmills in the mists.