I don’t do winter, well. Don’t ski. Don’t snowshoe. Don’t skate or play hockey. And I sure as hell don’t ice fish. I tried it once or twice when I lived in Salsibury, VT. My friends took me to their well appointed shack on Lake Dunmore. We drank beer, ate deer bourguignon, cooked to perfection on the site and laughed and told stories. Good friendship. But, every once in a while, we had to go check the lines. I held the flash light. Across the Lake, drivers did wheelies on the ice. We caught a few fish, little ones. The guys cleaned, cooked and ate them. Couldn’t wait to leave, though I admit I did have a good time hanging out.
New England shows its colors slowly, sometmes. This fall looks as if it will go on forever. Colors just coming out. I don’t involve myslef in reds and yellows. Send me blue greay. Matches my eyes.
Started at the fishing pier where no one catches fish. Moved to the sailor.
Went home for breakfast. Not much doing. Headed to the Water Treatment facility. Bike path quiet. People taking boats out of the water. Windy and sneaky chilly.
So, I meander down to the water to make this shot, sliding across the rocks. Totally into getting the shot, I left my I pad, phone and journal on a picnic table. A guy came buy, wondering who would leave such valuable stuff unguarded.
Evan. He had a dog. Shadow.
Recently, houseless. Ended long time relationship. We know many of the same people from the streets.
End of Summer. Atonal kind of day. Chilly following a blast of summer. Lots of people without places to stay, wondering what will happen when the weather turns frosty. But, for today, and the last couple of days, just find a place to crash and try to relax.
Eric didn’t look like he would make it. But he has resolve. Won’t let anyone help him. It’s there when he wants it, but he doesn’t know he needs it. Not sure it will make any difference or that he will survive.
Probably want a Ben and Jerry’s, but they weren’t open.
Battery Park offers a view of the Lake and the sky. A favorite spot for Rudyard Kipling when he lived in VT.
Find a bench on the Battery. Protect your things and your skin.
Asleep in mid thought. Had a place to sleep. Dozed in public.
Near a bathroom facing the Lake. First time I felt threatened. Dogs running free. One kid said, “…, retard …, I love fucking up old men.” Not very Burlington of him, eh. I got scared and left.
So, the biker remembers to bring his lock. He secures the bike. The thief, the bicycle thief, needs something to sell. Cheap bike. Cheap tires. So, he takes the seat. Wonder what he did with it?
Free Angela was a cry from my day. Hunted because of her connections to the civil rights movement and the Black Panthers, this crusader for the rights of blacks and women has reemerged as the subject of a documentary, “Free Angela and All Political Prisoners.” Without going into the details, she was charged with the kidnapping and murder/kidnapping of a judge, a prosecutor and a juror. Arrested after appearing on the FBI’s 10 most wanted list, she was put in segregation.Unable to make bail, she sat in jail for 18 months. A nationwide movement to Free Angela saw people wearing buttons and carrying signs, demonstrating to protest her incarceration. She became a symbol for people being held as political prisoners. Acquitted after trial, she taught college, wrote books (Are Prisons Obsolete) and, at present, leads a movement to end the prison industrial complex.
Not in a position to go one way or the other with Cornbread, because all I know is what I read in the papers. Had a client once who contended he, too, was a political prisoner. Didn’t see the connection between either of them and Angela Davis. Only took $100,00 to free her. He is held on $5,000 which should not be too hard to come up with, if they can make the same case for him they made for her. He was supposedly an outspoken rapper, whose notoriety and presence on the UVM campus could have made him a target. I was just surprised to see this poster on a column near the fishing pier. Not a heavily trafficked place where you’d expect a movement to start or meet. If it is just about being a crack dealer, a charge he denies, then he is a political prisoner for sure.
Fog stopped the sun, but not the light, from hitting the pier. The moisture filled my nostrels and dampness coated my forehead. Near the water, two people sat and looked for the lighthouse. I came late to the show. It had crept in and was leaving.
Sara and Zaira.
The Moran Building looks better when it cannot be seen so clearly. Who knows what it will become.
I left and came back. The sun returned, too, playing tricks with the water and the mountains. Always about the light. No wind. No birds. No boats. No fishermen. I always feel a little guilty when I stand alone at the end of the pier. The city built this whole pier just for me, so I can look at the world, I tell myself. Ever changing. Ever amazing. But I really want my neighbors to see it too. Lake Champlain belongs to all of us. In the summer, it will all be different.