Close to 5pm. The dust, settling. Literally, too. Watching clouds race by, or at least it feels just like that. Listening to a world behind dirty windows. (More items to fill long lists.) Too early for candles. Days that wear unfamiliar colours. Always close to rain.
#planter #cleaning #city #bus #stop #Myphoto
These are photographs from my story 'The Last Bus Ogden.' I live in a building next door to this Downtown, Salt Lake City planter. It was in front of a bus stop where I took buses, and also where a bus took me from Research Park where I worked, to this stop, right by my home. Many people waited for buses, and sat on the edge of the planter. It had been totally trashed. A horrible mess, neglected and abandoned by the property owners. I was disgusted to see it every day. I had called the property owners and asked that they clean it up. I learned that a water pipe in the planter no longer worked. I waited for them to clean it up. They never did. Cigarette butts were thrown in the planter - the planter would catch on fire from all the garbage. The Fire Department would arrive and put out the fires.
So, because I couldn't ignore the sight right in front to my eyes, I adopted the planter and cleaned it up myself. It took weeks. I worked on it after I got off from my job, at night, and on weekends. I wore gloves and a mask. I scrubbed the dirty concrete the best I could, and I also scrubbed off years of graffiti. The side walk in front of the planter was also a mess. I called the City about cleaning it up and they told me it was the responsibility of the property owners by the sidewalk. Well. I already knew nobody was going to be doing that. I cleaned the sidewalk myself. Because there wasn't any water to clean anything, I hauled water in a bucket back and forth from my apartment next door.
Of course people continued to throw their garbage in the planter, and I continued to clean up after them. That's just the way some people are. There could be a trash receptacle right in front of them, but they are too lazy to use it. The graffiti also continued, and I continued to scrub it off.
#ToWrite #flowers #planter #city
The Last Bus To Ogden
Last year I wrote “The angels were up in the night casting handfuls of pearls on neglected and forsaken ground…”
That time is here again, and I saw beautiful Morning Glories, also known as Moon Flowers, this morning while I was on a campus shuttle bus going to work. I said to myself,
“The angels were up in the night casting handfuls of pearls on neglected and forsaken ground.”
When I look at them, I can always hear sweet, high, little voices singing, like flowers in a beautiful Walt Disney cartoon-
“Good Morning! Good Morning! We love you. Have a wonderful day.”
As I looked at them, I remembered an old drunk man I met one night in front of a UTA bus stop, when I was working in the Social Hall planter in downtown Salt Lake City. I had adopted this forsaken planter. He rode up on his bicycle, huffed and puffed, and said it was a steep hill. He was wearing shorts, his legs were tanned, and he looked to be in good shape in spite of the fact that he was old, drunk as a skunk, and stinking to high Heaven. I thought if that’s what riding a bicycle can do for you, I should buy one and get my own self in shape. He sat on the edge of the concrete planter and was taken aback, and then delighted when by the light of a streetlight, he saw all the flowers I had planted in the planter. Thinking that he must be in the middle of some kind of alcohol induced delusion, he asked me what the names of the flowers and other plants were, and why was I out there late at night working in a flower garden? I told him the names of the flowers, and how I had adopted the abandoned Downtown planter, and it wasn’t my property. I explained that it was better, and easier to work at night when it was cooler, and there wasn’t a crowd of people around the planter waiting for their buses. He asked if he could help me, and plant a flower. I said he could, so he dug a hole in the dirt with his hands and planted a flower.
He enjoyed it all so much that I suggested that he should plant a garden where he lived. He explained that he once had a home and a wife, and back then he also had a garden that he tended. He said his wife slept during most of the day, and working in the garden was how he kept busy. But she died. He put his head down and was silent. Then, he told me that now he lived by a river in Ogden, and it wasn’t his property so he couldn’t plant anything. I got the feeling that he must live in some kind of tent, or lean-to. I pictured him being cold in the Winter.
The old man said all he had left was the VA Hospital he goes to, and that’s where he was earlier in the day. He had been in the Army in World War II. He showed me the battle and surgery scars on one knee, and said he lived in pain all the time. I thought perhaps his physical pain was one reason he had turned to heavy drinking. His doctor appointment was the reason he had traveled from Ogden to Salt Lake City on the bus. A trip that took an hour or longer. Now, he was waiting for the last bus to Ogden. That sounded like the name of a song to me, or a movie title. “The Last Bus To Ogden.” He asked if he could plant another flower and I told him no because he was much too drunk, and would accidentally damage them. He asked me why I was so mean. I could almost hear him gently saying those words to his deceased wife. I told him it was my job to care for the flowers. Understanding the responsibility of having a job to do, and the condition he was in, he shook his head “Yes” and didn’t argue with me about planting anything.
Then he said,
“… most people think of them as weeds, but I really liked them…they’re little, white, pretty flowers…”
"..Morning Glories?"
“Yes. That’s them. I really like them.”
“I like them too. Shall I plant some here for you?”
“…No…I used to work for the Forest Service for many years…wildflowers are the most beautiful…out there where they belong…in their own natural setting…it wouldn’t be right to have them here.”
He spoke in a sober, serious, intelligent Forest Ranger kind of way, deserving of respect, and not like an old, drunk man, on his way alone in the dark, to finally fall down beside a river and go to sleep.
The next day as I was walking with a co-worker to a Deli for lunch, I mentioned to him, because he knows about trees and gardens, that I really liked Morning Glories. I said I had been thinking about digging up a few plants from the nearby open field where we worked, and planting them in the Social Hall planter. He replied,
“No…you don’t want to do that. They’re weeds, and their roots go way, way down. You’d have a hard time digging up one. Why would you want to put weeds in a flower garden? They sell ornamental Morning Glories-they look good.”
My co-worker was correct. Ornamental Morning Glories are very pretty flowers, but somehow they remind me of a bowl of plastic apples, oranges, bananas and grapes that sat in the center of an aunt’s dining room table. Real-but not real. But maybe I’ll get over that one day, and plant some orientals in the Social Hall planter. It’s silly to keep an unreasonable thing in your mind. You know, get over it!
My co-worker was also correct about the wild Morning Glories having very deep roots. I did get out there in that dusty, dirty forsaken field, and dig up some plants, with their long vines, and the flowers that I loved so much. It took over an hour and it was hard work. I transported the wild Morning Glories home on a bus, in a large grocery store paper bag, with their roots wrapped up in wet paper towels. It was rather thrilling to have this treasure in my own personal possession-to be mine, to look at and enjoy to my heart’s content.
Once home, I put the wild Morning Glories in Mason jars and vases filled with water. I also filled up one side of my kitchen sink with water, and put more of them in the sink. They were all doing just fine, and I must have looked at them a hundred times.
I put the vines that were in jars and vases out on my second story window ledge of the Downtown building where I live. To see and touch this little bit of wild Nature was wonderful. When the Sun went down, the little Morning Glory flowers folded up and disappeared within the leaves of the vines!! I was thrilled! When my alarm went off the next morning, I raced to the kitchen to look at the Morning Glories I had in the sink filled with water. All the little white flowers were in full bloom.
“Good Morning! Good Morning! We love you. Have a wonderful day.”
Some had a slight touch of pink on them, and others had a touch of light blue. All-so beautiful to me. The flowers that were out on the window ledge were also in full bloom. I was very happy.
I kept the wild Morning Glories with me for over a week, and knew I would have to plant them soon or they would die. But in thinking about it, I had to agree with the old man, the Forest Ranger, that they were at their most beautiful in their own natural environment. It was selfish of me to have them. And, the Social Hall planter was no longer a neglected, forsaken piece of ground. It had me to love and care for it, so they really didn’t belong in the planter.
I transported the wild Morning Glories, “a heavenly gift to barren and forsaken places”, back to the barren field where I had dug them up. I planted them, and watered them every day until I was sure they would be alright. I looked at them when I was passing by, and a few times I walked out into the field for a closer look. Winter snow covered them, and then one Spring day, bulldozers were bulldozing the large, empty field-smoothing it all out. The Morning Glories were plowed under. I walked out there and asked one of the workmen what was happening. A new medical clinic was going to be built there. I thought of the old Forest Ranger, taking a bus from Ogden to go to a doctor appointment in Salt Lake City. Maybe one day his doctor would send him to the new clinic that was to be built? And as he sat in the waiting room, he would look at the clock on the wall, and think about making the…last bus to Ogden.
Early evening. No rain. And a starless void in between the clouds. Feeling small, so far below. // 366skies
#366skies #outerworld #dresden #city_nights
#city nights
(9pm and a bit more. Home office is just another room for now. Window open wide, a sickle of moon in a halo of thin clouds, and a great Orion on a velvet dark nightsky, guarded by the more small stars the longer the eye is willing to gaze at. No words, very few thoughts. Trembling in the cold air, lost in stunned childish amazement.)
#outerworld #city_nights #the_moon_in_these_days #where_we_are_we_are
Migration im US-Wahlkampf
Von Lukas Hermsmeier
Beim Thema Migration setzen die Republikaner im US-Wahlkampf auf Panikmache. In New York sieht man, welche Folgen es für Betroffene hat, wenn Politiker der Demokraten dabei mitspielen.
Deutlich später: Rückkehr. Angeheitert, beschwingt, balancierend auf dem schmalen Beton, der dunkle Wiesen von Steinplatten trennt. Sterne im Stadtdunkel hoch oben, das Starren in die kosmische Leere und die gleichzeitige, nur mäßig koordinierte Bewegung erzeugen kurze Schwindelgefühle. Verlassene Wege, finstere Wohnblöcke, zwischen den Vierteln findet man sich allein mit gelegentlichen Straßenbahnen, vereinzelten Reisenden, die über leerem Asphalt rasen. (Irgendwann spürt man die eigenen Schlüssel vor der eigenen Tür klappern. Zumindest fühlt sich dieses Ende des Tages milder an; auf den Terrassen und Balkonen wird vielstimmig diskutiert, gelacht, hier und da geseufzt. Jemand singt Kinder in den Schlaf. Gläser klirren, in der Kneipe werden noch Bestellungen aufgegeben. Immer kurz vor dem Punkt, an dem die Grenze der Müdigkeit überschritten wird hin zur Ruhelosigkeit. An irgendeinem Wochenendabend im März.)
Verlässliche Unorte immer wieder: Baumarkt am voranschreitenden Samstag. Luft getränkt mit dem Duft von Holz, Metall, Farbe, Schweiß. Die Stimmung stets milde gereizt, man kommt anderer Leute Projekten in die Quere und stört durch pure Anwesenheit, während sich auf dem Parkplatz unter dünnen Wolken überdimensionale Autos anfauchen. Im Radio schreit man um die Macht und warnt und mahnt, und irgendwo rennt ein Emu über die Autobahn. Sonderbarer muss es nicht mehr werden.
Navigation zu Fixpunkten, entlang von Tagen, Wochen. Routiniertes Innehalten in Momenten, in denen der Takt kurz aussetzt und Blicke durch das Universum jenseits des Tunnels streifen. Freitagabend. Neue Kerzen in alte Leuchter stecken. Nachbarn lachen im Hinterhof, es duftet nach Rauch und von den alten Steinmauern eingeschlossenem Frühling, der in das hohe kalte Firmament der Nacht fliehen möchte. Das Klavier ist verstaubt, Töne fügen sich nur zögernd, für Noten bringt das Bewusstsein keine Konzentration mehr auf. Leben in Texten verschiebt sich zwischen die Zeilen, auf der Baustelle brummt ein schweres Aggregat. Sterne erwachen über den Giebeln.
#outerworld #city_nights #later_that_day #where_we_are_we_are
Eine nette Atmosphäre abends in meiner Stadt...✨️🌛✨️
Heute ist es schon Donnerstag! Ich habe heute noch ganz viel zu tun, viel vor, aber ich bin gedanklich fast schon am Wochenende... Ich wünsche euch allen einen guten Tag heute und wer es ganz nötig hat, dann auch ganz viel Glück!!!!!!!🍀🍀🍀 Ein besster Freund von mir braucht zur Zeit ganz viel Kraft und Glück! Das wünsche ich DIR von ganzem meinem Herzen ❤️
#Foto #meinFoto #Stadt am #Abend #Stimmung #Glück im Leben #Grüße #Freund #Freundschaft #mywork #photo #myphoto #city in the #evening #mood #happiness in life #greetings #friend #friendship #Musik #BruceSpringsteen
Wieder die Stadt: Erste Zitronenfalter im Garten. Kontakt mit dem Fuchs auch jetzt nur über Kamera, der Waschbär hat Fußspuren im frischen Beet hinterlassen und hier und dort graben müssen. Minuten weiter verschmilzt die blaue Stunde des eigenen Viertels mit dem orangefarbenen Laternenlicht und den warmen Farben hinter alten Fenstern. Zwei Fledermäuse spielen geräuschlos inmitten der Häuser, die Erinnerungen an einen milden Tag spüren lassen. Ankommen im Abend.
9pm and on. Surprising how much light this nights darkness can hold. The clouds are ghosts and spirits and sheep and wolves are yesterday and tomorrow and something somewhere in between. Windows to a narrow world. Watching and cautiously taking note of whatever floats by. (An idea of spring. Distant music and the evening people gathering in the shady corners of parking lots. Breathing the air of that city cooling down after the day.)
10pm and on again, already. Challenging oneself by attempting to keep a textual flow in messages, ending paragraphs in a way that matches how they started. Trivial tasks turn somewhat difficult reaching a certain level of sleepiness. Maybe there's a hint to take from that. (Or maybe not, who knows. Watching the sky instead to refocus. Tales and stories of distant stars.)
#outerworld #later_that_day_later_that_night #borders_of_sleep #city_nights
#later that day later that night #borders of sleep #city nights
Early evening. Hazy skies. Structures dissolving in warm colours while city's slowly freezing over again. // 366skies
#366skies #outerworld #smartphonephotography #dresden #city_evening
#city evening
Mit Hits wie "Am Fenster" war City eine der erfolgreichsten Musikgruppen der DDR und in Deutschland nach der Wende. Bis zum letzten Konzert 2022 immer dabei war Band-Gründer Fritz Puppel. Nun ist er im Alter von 79 Jahren gestorben. via #Tagesschau
https://www.tagesschau.de/kultur/city-mitbegruender-puppel-tot-100.html
Ich mochte diesen #Song immer sehr gern. <3
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAJ3rlIFM5c
#City #Rock #Ost-Rock #Music #Musik #Musique #YouTube #Video #Wikipedia ☮️
Early evening. Light is fading again. Except for the moon trying to poke holes into layers of clouds. A tough job for sure. But apparently possible. // 366skies
#366skies #outerworld #smartphonephotography #dresden #city_at_dusk
#city at dusk
Viel später, irgendwie zeitlos. Auf dem harten Boden liegen, noch einmal kurz vor dem Schlaf. Ungelesene Bücher unter, unerdachte im Kopf. Die Heizung rumpelt, in der Straße bellen Hunde, klingen eher fröhlich als wütend. Musik von gegenüber, dazwischen klingelt ein Telefon und für den Augenblick ist die Nähe der Geräusche der Stadt wieder schön wahrzunehmen. Kleine Augen vom Tag, genug Müdigkeit mitgenommen, und heute fehlt es nicht an Sternen.
7pm and on. Reviving a flat. Windows opened to catch as much of the fleeing day as somewhat possible. Also: A nervous cat on the hunt for feet, shoes, tiny flies. (And, still, the light of that small star, wondering whether it should still stay awake in the progressing year.)
