Sunday, September 02, 2007

the unexpected

What would you consider the unusual, here, on Ocean? A season with very very limited travel? Posts that describe in great detail the purchasing of a bathroom scale? So funny, so very very funny and yet – so un-Ocean like.

I was reading articles for my soon to begin semester and I was especially amused by one that talked of the proliferation of on-line dating. The author raised the usual questions: what’s binding about the blurb you put out there, describing yourself as being basically better than you are? The article also mentions the phenomenon of the disappearing relationship – the one that vanishes without notice. One day you’re emailing and building your future together, next day one of you skips out and is never heard from again.

And so I wondered: what if your blog switches gears and becomes something inexplicably different for no good reason?

Not likely, here, on Ocean. Predictably, I travel. Predictably, I get busy around the teaching months. And predictably, I post a photo, more than one oftentimes, taken sometime in the course of my day.

Today I biked a familiar path between Ed’s sheepshed (yes, Ed lives in a sheepshed) and an Ancora in Fitchburg that, believe it or not, I favor over and beyond most any cafĂ© in Madison. It’s a 3. 67 mile trip between the two. A perfect back and forth.

And today, I came across these two characters, trying to find a safe haven in Fitchburg. Forget it! Move on!

001 cranes, copy

And on the way back, I passed this person, diligently working a field. You have no idea how bad the mosquitoes are this week. Every few seconds, she would raise herself and swat away. I could hardly pause the minute it took me to take the photo. The world has far far braver people in it than I can even imagine.

007 in the field, copy

Finally, just meters away from Ed’s sheepshed, I passed this field. No comment on it. Just that it’s beautiful, especially when the sun lets you know that in a second or two, shadows will replace light.

010 fields, copy