Summer scene, Washington Square Park, Greenwich Village, N.Y. Photo by Howie Lisnoff.
You walked on Charles Street in the heart of Greenwich Village, your signature sandals against the wet pavement. Our steps echoed magically within the endless city noise. I thought, too cold for bare feet, but you persevered long into the waning season. Perseverance would become your moniker. These were the days of great change and great hope when idealism and fearlessness were indistinguishable. I look across the room at you today, still beautiful in a world of unspeakable horror and ugliness.
Photo by Howie Lisnoff
The grass falls in legions
Beneath the spinning blades of the mower
It is high spring
I have been mowing grass since childhood
My father assigned me the lost rolling hills of ancient memory
I stood behind in those days
Now I sit over sweeping hills of
As in those days
The cut grass is sweet and emerald green
Spring’s the right time
In the vastness of this universe
For love and mowing
A footnote of youth and age
An in between
To the beauty of those leaves of grass
Falling in legions once again.
Open Road/Do Not Try This At Home
Brian and I in the heavy summer rain
Tailgating tractor trailer/ New Hampshire highway
Night of youthful fearlessness
In the wonder of the White Mountains
Bedrolls lashed to the backs of our machines.