Monthly Archives: October 2026

Musings

Twilight, Delta Loop, Halloween night

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On the same spot where I stand each night.  Twilight falls across the meadow.  Once again:  Turning toward the western horizon, but this time the sun has nearly slipped from sight.  Her rays settle into a dusky crown, shimmering in the clouds and kissing the far edges of the trees rising over the levee.

My legs hold steady as I raise the phone to capture the night sky.  Then I let my hand rest on the car door, sweater dangling into the dust.  Sounds of a neighbor’s dinner party drift through her window, laughter and soft music.  A cool breeze dances across my deck.  The windchimes lend their voice to the evening’s soundtrack.  

I stopped at an open studio after I closed the shop.  I admired the art; met the artist; chatted with other guests.  I watched the darkness begin to gather and decided that I should make my way home.  One of the hostesses walked me outside.  Before I left, she asked if I was doing well.  I could but smile.  “I have only first world problems,” I assured her.  She nodded.  “No bombs falling on my village; no active and creeping diseases; enough money, food on the table, work to do.”  We stood on the sidewalk in front of the studio that she shares with her wife.  She knew what I meant.  Nothing more needed to be said.

All good.

Mugwumpishly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®

Twilight

—  Sara Teasdale
 
Dreamily over the roofs
The cold spring rain is falling,
Out in the lonely tree
A bird is calling, calling.Slowly over the earth
The wings of night are falling;
My heart like the bird in the tree
Is calling, calling, calling.

 

Musings, Park Life, Tiny Living

Sunset on the levee

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For eight years, nine months, and twenty-nine days,  I have stood in a certain spot gazing across the park in which I live,  watching the setting sun .  Ah, to be sure, the receding orb did not stare across the levee at me on every one of those eventful days.  But many of them found me pausing, just here, to lean against my car and watch the fire blaze itself across the willing horizon.

After one year in this place, I unpacked a suitcase from the final weeks of my intermittent stays in Kansas City.

After two years, I had procured a driver’s license with the California seal and a Sacramento County voter registration card.

After three years, I hunkered down in the protective bubble of these fifteen acres to endure a world pandemic with a handful of neighbors.  I kept working, but here at home, we greeted each other from behind masks and moved our weekly dinners outside to the central meadow.

Another three years fell upon the cutting room floor to unveil the art collective that I started principally to plant my flag and nurture my personal legacy.  Did I open the place just to have somewhere local to sell my book?  I won’t deny at least some partial truth in that contention.

The calendar has nearly turned its pages on another three years.   Last night, I rested my wooden walking stick against my dusty car.  I scooted my tired legs further down the fender, and raised my eyes to the tree line.  The amber glow outlined the spareness of the autumn branches.  Cool air surrounded me.  I took a photograph of the sun as it slipped below the distant unseen curve of the San Joaquin.  Soft darkness wrapped itself like a luscious swath of cashmere around my aging body.  I listened for some sound to keep me standing, waiting, watching.  Hearing nothing, nonetheless I lingered still.  

Mugwumpishly tendered.

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®

Late October
Sara Teasdale, 1884–1933

Listen, the damp leaves on the walks are blowing
With a ghost of sound;
Is it a fog or is it a rain dripping
From the low trees to the ground?

If I had gone before, I could have remembered
Lilacs and green afternoons of May;
I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumn
Whatever she has to say.

Musings

Nightlight

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I stand on a porch lit only by a string of cafe lights that I found on the internet.  The glow softens the edges of the leaves in the branches swaying overhead.  Night has seeped into the surrounding acreage, land that huddles below sea level adjacent to the wide San Joaquin.

Chilly air ruffles the wisps of grey hair surrounding the turned collar of my sweater.  I raise my eyes to seek the moon, bright against the deep blue of the night sky.  My eyes close, lashes fluttering against the pale skin of my cheek.  I hear the call of the nightbirds, the rustle of the little critters under my house, and the traffic noise on the distant highway.  Each shimmering sound drifts across the island to where I stand.  The Delta settles itself for sleep, for restful hours, for a short, restorative hibernation that will yield to the rising sun. 

My arms lift and wrap themselves around my body.  Car lights briefly sweep across the spot where I stand.   An owl hoots overhead, then lifts its great wings and crosses the meadow to the tall cedar where its mate awaits him.  A flutter of leaves settle on my neighbors roof in the wake of the bird’s launch.

My breath rises and falls, rises and falls, rises and falls.  Something uncoils within me, dropping away as yet unnamed.  A timer clicks and the string of lights suddenly dim.  I wait in my doorway, in the gloom, eyes closed, listening as the life around me fades into a certain stillness.  I linger for as long as I can tolerate the cold, then step into the house and close the door behind me.

Mugwumpisly tendered,

Corinne Corley

The Missouri Mugwump®