Posts Tagged ‘sun
it seems like we’re being served “under glass”
that there’s a serving dome set down above the sun, trapping the heat, shimmering, relentless
we continue to cook (pink in the center) even though at this hour we’ve been pulled out of the oven of the previous day — but just long enough to think (actually deceive one’s self) “oh, it’s not going to be that bad today,” when you know you’re lying to yourself
what with the flames licking up the palm trees to the east
it’s thyme. the bees know that at this hour the nectar is the sweetest (6:53 a.m. pdt)
the italian cypress is considering a quick dip in the pool (its reasoning is upside down, but still…)
even my shadow is trying to escape, stretching out in the hope that the further away it is from the sun, the cooler it will remain (not true–i can feel the heat on the back of my neck as i stand here)
saddleback mountain a mirage
the tall pine by our house trying to edge into the shade thrown by another pine just to the east (and out of frame)
it’s true, i wonder what people do with all that space. you can only imagine what it costs to cool that shadeless pile of brick. and then i think to myself that they’re looking over at our little bungalow, nestled in the hillside, with pine trees, acacias, and palms all around (and no air conditioning) and they’re thinking to themselves, “how do they live in such constrained circumstances,” if they think about us at all.
notes from the director after rehearsal:
shooting star: consider making your entrance just a beat or two earlier so that the audience can see you more fully before you dip behind the eucalyptus on the left.
lamps: fab job, illuminating work
night sky: surprisingly great use of the sun as it continues its descent to the eastern morning, let’s keep that in, i think it makes for a terrific denouement
palms, what can i say? you continue to surprise. you dive into each character feet first every time with amazing results. in this last scene, what particularly impressed me was the subtle movement of your trunks against the revolving night sky, lovely and dramatic. keep up the good work!
they do become friends after all.
they saw it from pacific coast highway in dana point one afternoon on their way back from the beach, a little shop with funky furniture and large clay pots spilling out onto the sidewalk. they made that split-second decision you do when you’re driving along not looking for anything in particular, but in no hurry to get home, you know, the decision to extend your perfect day just a little bit longer, a little bit more exploration, just as you did at the beach when you wandered down one of the many arroyos that lead down to the beach (and where you saw two men kissing, their oiled bodies pressed tight together, one man’s deeply tanned hand holding the black-haired head of his lover in a clinch of passion. they didn’t see our sojourners, stopping as they had a few yards away in the deep, quiet sand, embarrassed a little, but still captivated by the glistening bodies and obliviousness–of the sun beating down on them, of the possibility of discovery; the beauty of the day surrounding them in an aura of golden, shimmering sweat and lotion, the sucking sound of two tongues competing with the gentle wash of water against the shore, and the faint hum of the freeway, unseen, but close. it was such an intimate, exquisite moment — the life before the little death that was sure to follow — that you unconsciously began to move closer to them; your lover took your hand and when you looked at him, he touched his lips with his forefinger, shhh, and you turned away and shuffled through the sand, back to the beach, resistant, a little like pulling your dog away from an especially fragrant spot of grass, and he leaned up against you, arm-to-arm, and kissed your shoulder, both of you smiling in collusion with the lovers behind you.)
the driver dug his wallet out from underneath the car seat where he’d hidden it when they’d parked at the beach, and they climbed out of the warmth of the car. they’d driven down the freeway with the windows down and exiting into town at the ‘beach cities’ sign, sunglasses slipping down their sun-kissed noses; one with a green bandanna tied around his head do-rag style, the other in his dago-t, curly, scratchy chest hair spilling out from the straps and arm-holes. they stood in front of the store, pointing at this pot and that one, really no need to speak to each other, but finally deciding on the neo-classical urn and the hunky surfer dude owner helped them put it into the trunk of their car, assuring them of its durability and long life.
a tree rose, just like the one in these photos, well, actually the one in these photos, was planted in the urn. a season of watering, sun, rain, time, passed. and then another, possibly a third, but then the urn started to deteriorate, a chunk of its rim falling off without human assistance (was the tree rose helping it escape? they didn’t know.) eventually though, it had to be replaced, and they brought home an earthen-ware, hand-decorated pot that required both of them to carry down the stairs from the garage to its new home. the hammer was brought out of its tool box and the pot that was falling apart was further encouraged to leave the tree rose behind; they re-potted it using some of the shards of the old pot as drainage in the bottom of the new, and there resides the rose ever since. (happily ever after, they imagine, as they’re inclined to believe in fairy tales and other stories of the supernatural, like lovers kissing on the beach.)
there are days here on our hilltop, when all of the parts of a day (besides the obvious ones–sun, sea, sky) come together, even if it’s just for the briefest of moments, and if you’re lucky, you’ll be at the point where they all converge (this includes your humor, your physical being, your you) and you may stand there, mouth agape, fumbling with your camera (even if it’s just your eye and the film of your life running through the projector of your mind), wondering at your good fortune to have been there (without the ‘done that’).
there are days, for example, where those moments come closer together than one might feel are appropriate, like winning the lottery or an academy award (whatever seems the most unlikely for you) and they layer one upon the other, someone’s grandiose idea of a cake (i like cake) with butter cream frosting and strawberries (please feel free to substitute your favorite flavors–it could also be a cake filled with pleasant sensations; the touch of your lover, a smile from a stranger, a door being held open for you, a thank you–god knows those are in short supply these days), wherever they come from, however you build it, it’s there just for you. you may even find yourself blushing from the excess. <insert your favorite approving platitude here.>
yesterday, there was a tree that reached for the sky, playfully scratching at the underbelly of the clouds.
do you commune with nature?
“hey, moon, wassup?” or “what about those yankees?”
or perhaps you have a more inquisitive nature: “so, moon, do you find competition from the sun irritating? you’ve been waxing for several nights and suddenly the sun’s all like up in your face, before you’ve even taken your final bow, like some bad actor talking over your laugh.”
alright. i know. you’re more of the silent type and you stand there and let nature reveal itself to you, more of a listener (always a good trait to have, even when you’re dealing with humans), letting it have its way with you.
here’s what happened to me: “my god, you should see the moon in the sky with the sunrise over the ocean,” i gushed, the dogs jostling each other on their way to the kitchen for their breakfast, “i wish i’d had my camera, it was magnificent.” “i’m feeding them, why don’t you grab the camera and go take some photos?” he offered. (this would have been a cartoon moment; i would have just been a blur of color as i did exactly that, grabbed the camera, dashed out the door and seconds later found myself standing at the top of the driveway, communing, as i do, with nature.)