The Fruit-Fly

They call me the fruitfly. Fruit is the center of my universe.

court.. et simple

Quelqu'un veut raison; quelqu'un veut justice; quelqu'un veut beauté; quelqu'un veut le paix d'éspirit; mais le monde continue, par habitude, par la puissance qui le créa. Le Parole de Dieu existe toujours. C'est raison, c'est justice, c'est beauté, c'est paix, c'est la vérité.

Français pour tous et toutes.

C'est juste, il n'est Automne encore. Monsieur, si tu te demandes, C'est Juillet. !

D'accord, le mois est Juillet. J'admets mon erreur.

L'été à Middlebury fait beau, bon, un temps magnifique, et toutes des autres phrases qu'on pourrait utiliser pour le temps. Vermonte est belle, vraiment.

Une autre vérité: C'est un peu difficile de parler français tous le temps. En fait, je ne l'ai parlé jamais dehors la salle de classe, et des autres temps au hasard. Commencer à parler seulment français, alors, ce n'est pas facile. Je jouis mes cours, cependant, et je continue à essayer. J'essaye tout de suite, et en effet, c'est tout que je peux faire.

Peut-être je mettrai des plus annonces. Maintenant, c'est tout.

Alors, jusqu'à la prochaine fois.

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Fall has settled in

Lookout Mountain is an attractive place. We can agree on that. But it is an artistic masterpiece in November. I constantly find myself exclaiming about the beauty of the day and the richness of color where we live. It is amazing. I am vindicated because as many times as I whined about the nastiness of some late-summer days, I sing praises for these days. Praise God for the loveliness of his Creation. He made the earth good. It attests to his creative outpouring in matter. I have been waiting for the fall season, and this it. I can safely anticipate Thanksgiving, and have a slight thought about the advent season to follow.

(this pic does very little justice. all i got right now.)

Situational Poetry

Sometimes the best poems are squeezed from experience, a picture, something that describes a much larger element of human experience.

The situation: Sunday afternoon chess match
The players: Jonathan Cate and Myself
The story: game starts off slowly; game ends with JPerry winning by a wide margin - he kicked my butt.
The bottom-line: my Queen stepped in front of my King, even when the next move he would clearly be dead regardless.
I write poem:

Blood flows; Queen of the Agèd Land
Stopping herself that Blazing Arrow
Intended rightly for the Divine Hand
Which dealt justice, child and widow

Years and years, King of the Oppressèd
Now Queen fallen, sacrifice, Queen blessèd.

Meter: 8-9-10-8-9-10; not sure if that is legit, but I went with it, so for me it is appropriate.

[oh, and one more thing. Most importantly, if you have not seen it, you must --
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NqD171d0VBc ]

Old Dreams

Oh yes. Graffiti. And me. And New York City. Don't you always miss the places you have ever loved? I often miss the little scenes of places I frequented when younger but have not been in awhile. I miss the rooms of my elementary school, the pathways at the old baseball fields. Little League. I miss the places I would travel to, the cities I have walked and mountains I have hiked. Not that it gets me too far thinking about these places, but I do think they are worth remembering.
I like New York.

need to be random

i just messed around with photo-editing. here is the product: self-portrait.