Modacius II

Here is the first very personal post to my blog.  It’s about art but, this time, not kids’ art, my own art describing my own thoughts…

Modacius II – July 11, 2014 IMG_2033 Most dangerous city in the U.S. The city is starting to stir. A shout of “What the fuck’s the matter with you?” drifts from open windows of a neighbor’s house not fifty feet away – a mother probably talking to her child.

I have “my cat child” of sixteen on my lap in a collapsible, canvas arm chair under a weeping cherry tree I transplanted from across the street a decade ago – which was planted by a Sacred Heart Church neighbor a decade before that.

Myself a transplant to this place twenty-five years ago after I had already lived one half a century… What possessed me? Perhaps the intimations of things to come: this cat on my lap, the distraught mother and child next door, the weeping cherry tree grown tall,

the thousands of images of kids’ drawings, the dozens of rescued stray animals, the generations of robins, and less distinguished others living and dying before my eyes, the drunk driver crashing behind my row house causing his car, and almost my house, to burn

the “good and the bad” mixing together in the pot of my life which has been stirring for seventy-five years with not enough time to observe, as I’m doing now, the weeping cherry tree, which just dropped some caterpillars and a spider on my lap.

I had moved my cat, Beebee, inside but not before taking photos of her face with wide eyes experiencing for the first time with me on the collapsible chair a glorious summer day surrounded by bridal wreath, ivy, honey locust,

weeds, shade behind my Camden row house.

There are five photos – the first, her head twisted to the left, whiskers splayed, showing cautious interest, the second, her head twisted to the right, the third, she’s safe on my lap, the fourth and fifth, so calm with her “Mom,” her first time outside in sixteen years but

she’s cool with it, having seen and heard for four seasons every year of her sixteen years from the open and closed windows inside our corner row house variations of what she experienced on my lap just a while ago –

I see in her eyes our deep, deep bond.

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