Day twenty-one: A domesticated gourd

ink drawing of a small pumpkin

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Day twenty: a wreath of weeds and brambles

ink drawing of a wreath of twigs and weedsShe used some of the weeds and brambles she’d pulled from the garden to make an autumn wreath.

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And just like that: Autumn

Brooklyn Bridger seen from DUMBO in the rainIt arrived with that kind of grey rain that settles in for a few days, so you just have to settle with it.

I was out all day Sunday and into the night; eight miles of walking in the rain, and when I got home the apartment was clammy like when it rains at a beach house during vacation and steals away some of the fun. 

I had to put on pajamas for sleeping. The beginnings of Fall.
A little park in the ruins in DUMBO
A little park in the ruins in DUMBO
A street lined with an arched tunnel of Locust trees in Greenpoint

There was no ignoring such a noisome spectacle

jack o lanterns on an iron fence

The severed heads had been put on pikes for all and sundry to see; made examples of. The unseasonably warm autumn weather made grotesques of each— death masques submitting to rot and gravity; to the punishments meted by the state.

Passersby turned their heads, and covered their faces with kerchiefs, but there was no ignoring such a brutal and noisome spectacle.

jack o lanterns on an iron fence

When time turns in upon itself, you question everything

I’ve been on a new trajectory. It’s great; it’s weird, It’s new. I love new.

I also love Old. That’s neither here nor there. I’ve been feeling like a teenager again, lately. In the sense where I’m acutely aware how temporary so many people in one’s life tend to be. It’s not a judgement call; only acknowledgement of reality.

Most folks are temporary. There’s a time during which you overlap. It ends.

The thing to always remember is that you’re permanent. Be permanent to yourself. A solid. And recognize those who exhibit permanent qualities in return— they’re your rocks. Will help get you to your True North. The Keepers.


The afternoon warmed unexpectedly— unseasonably

ink drawing of a scarf by E Daggar

Day sixteen: The afternoon warmed unexpectedly— unseasonably. He’d removed his accustomed scarf on account of the change; left it coiled like a tie or a snake on the picnic table in the dooryard. There, it warmed in the sun.


See all of my #Inktober drawings @edaggarart or

fabric flags


On a cold, windy weekend
I contrived a little garland
of fabric flags—
droll points affixed at intervals
to a length of pale ribbon
because the undraped window
looked dreary
and forlorn.

Days later
I looked at them,
trying to gauge
whether they cheered.

Outside, the trees
wore bright-gold leaves,
a yellow burst
against the blue
Blue sky—

the last carnival
colors of the season.

The flags cannot compete.

Yet months from now,
the view gone grey and somber,
that remembrance will be traced
in a jaunty arc of flags.

Colors of the city : day to night

Here are a few photographs of beautiful buildings, trees and windows in Park Slope at eventide.

Artifacts from an evening wander

Magic hour in Park Slope
South Park Slope mini park 18th Street
South Park Slope mini park 18th Street
Nice color blocking, SoSlo!
A fine, high-ceilinged front room in a North Slope brownstone
A fine, high-ceilinged parlor in a North Slope brownstone— and proper, not hiding behind curtains or blinds!
Wonderful details on this stone-carved entryway, North Slope
Wonderful details on this stone-carved entryway, North Slope