Foliage, Older
Blades of grass and a shoulder to cry on.
A vibrating reflection, spiraling and some-
what spinning. Fuzzy fruit, moldy peaches.
Refrigerator doors swinging open as a new
day begins. A rich carpet of color. Take
the good with the bad. Bridging the gap.
A flavorful approach. Exchanging ideas,
breaking bread. Shoeboxes filled with trinkets,
knick-knacks, coins, and envelopes. Deadlines
and bills to pay. The plants need to be watered.
I separate the sentences (life and death) as
night falls. Cyclical, really. Changing seasons
(incessantly) and familiar longing. I am no
prophet. This too shall pass. A French baguette.
Le Petit Prince. Bedtime stories before sound
sleep. “Many hands make light work.” Sea glass.
Ships floating in the harbor. Activated charcoal
and the taste of peppermint. Down the drain. Space
heaters for when it really gets cold. Opening the
oven. Early afternoon at Appleton Farms with a
warm pizza: potatoes, leeks, olive oil, and Gruyere.
Pointing out the cows, horses, and goats. Laughing
all the way. Hootin’ and hollerin’. The domestic sphere.
Preparing for guests. Feeding the cat each day at
5 o’clock. Daylight savings. An extra hour of sleep.
Down at the laundromat across from the gallery.
Christmas decorations put up far too early. All
Saints’ Day. All Souls Day. Always a pleasure. A
basket of leftover Halloween candy. Décor and
details. Jack-o-lanterns collapsing in on themselves,
piles of brown leaves forming on front lawns. Anticipating
first frost. Feels like fall.

Notes from the Sculpture Park
Storm King Wavefield. Contoured land as
viewed from the bench atop an adjacent hill.
Goldenrod asters. Asters goldenrod. A
large weeping willow and Permanent Field
observations. Winding stone wall dividing
woods from wildflowers. Beaten path cutting
through the meadow. Arms raised in the
center of a giant golden ring (the silver
circle framing the figure from behind).
Contradictory, codependent, and complementary
values. Visions become binocular. Tufts of
tall grass spread out over 500 acres.
Three-legged Buddha made of copper and steel,
head sunk halfway into soft earth. Metal
arches: midnight black and rust orange. Smells
like a graphite pencil. Coconut and Thai tea
popsicles. Holy Macaroni! Eyes of the sky,
endless blue holding the sun as it journeys
across (one thousand miles, a single footstep).
Sassafras growing beside the white marble
statue, a woman bicycling by: “This breeze
is heavenly.” The curious case of the scurrying
woodchuck. Sarcophagi in Glass Houses, 1989.
Scattered along our impromptu route: Reclining
man, Frog Legs, E=MC 2 , Waiting for UFO,
Suspended, and Low Building with Dirt Roof.
So many layers to the landscape, immersed in
the light of late Summer. Spitting out the pits
of black cherries. Section of skin red raw from
the long walk. An authentic sense of serenity,
the Autumn equinox just three weeks away.

PJ Carmichael is a writer, artist, dreamer, and lover living in the seaside town of Beverly, Massachusetts. He enjoys hiking, biking, baking, cooking, and time spent outdoors. His writing reflects on his direct, lived experiences and has appeared in the Boston Hassle, Sunstroke Magazine, The Amazine, and elsewhere.