by aramatzne@gmail.com | 4 Mar 2024 | Musing
Where is my humanity?
A big man, Indigenous
With wilderness in his mind
Coffee freely offered
Brings an offering of gratitude
Passersby engage or shun
Gaining momentum
Fearful of the irregular actions of
A big man, Indigenous
A hearse passes
The line of cars streaming behind
A big man, Indigenous
Stands, crosses himself, bows his head
A young Black man stops, shakes hands
Says good morning
A big man, Indigenous
I will offer a bite to eat as I leave
The police chief visits
A big man, Indigenous
No move along, no aggression
Equals in their place
He walks, not well, right knee seized
A little wildness in his gait
A big man, Indigenous
Shakes his head, steps a fancy dance
Away across the street
A big man, Indigenous
Follows his morning agenda
I slink out the back door
Good intention devoid of action
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 5 Feb 2024 | Musing
Rocks + bones; Rocks, yes, rocks; Rocks 🙂
As you may know, I moved recently, and for the first time in almost three years, I’ve unpacked everything. I’m not long in the furniture department, but I’ve got rocks, shells, and bones covered, from Australian abalone to obsidian blocks and a complete moose skeleton.
Who needs chairs?
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 22 Jan 2024 | Musing
Transitions
I’m back in the land of sky and light.
The earth spins through the ephemeral colors of the day. The ethereal light of morning is luminous. The sunset gradient passes from the sun’s flame to cool atmospheric blue in a hair’s breadth and illuminates the setting moon.
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 13 Nov 2023 | Musing
Changing light
As indoor light exceeds the outdoor light, the regular 0916 library photo becomes increasingly sharper images of me in front of the library stacks. Night is taking hold, and with it comes new light– town, bonfires, the moon, and aurora take the sky.
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 2 Oct 2023 | Musing
The view from here
I’ve been working in the Longyearbyen library almost every day. I stand at the windows facing southeast. When I first arrived at the beginning of September, the morning sun poured through the window, soaking and warming me with light. And then, last week, I realized the sun moved behind the mountain before its light fell through the library windows.
These four photos were taken at 0916 on the mornings of 18, 21, 25, and 26 September. In a week’s time, the sun slipped below the ridge and out of view. It still rides the horizon behind the mountains, and in 25 days, it will drop below the sea, not to return for four months.
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