Archive for May 7th, 2012

Little squirrel with bushy tail[1]


From tree to tree I see you sail

Never once to see you fail,

                The air to slice.

Wish I could learn to fly,

Against the vaulted, azure sky.

What a thrill, O me, O my –

                It must be nice.

– eab, May, ’66

[1] This squirrel would jump from a locust tree to the brick wall and then take a piece of bread from my hand at the window (he got in one day and we  concerned about Andy stopped this).

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In the beginning was the Word



– not the Sketch, not the Score,



not the Formula, not the Problem



– No, He is The WORD.    

– eab, 3/20/12

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