Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E. Bourland Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .

Friday, March 27, 2015

Mallards Landing on Sikes Lake


Wild Grape Hyacinth on Old Iowa Park Road




      Update: I was not trespassing to take these pictures, standing perilously by the side of the road. Still, when a young man driving a tractor, pulling a trailer on which sat a woman, I felt queasy about a confrontation. Thankfully, the woman came over for a friendly chat. 
      Her name was Kathy Davis and that was her son driving the tractor. They were working on fixing up the house that stood next to the field of flowers. Davis spoke about the history of the property, saying that her family had owned it since 1910. The property includes Wichita Valley airport, which she said provided a nice revenue for her family. In the background of the top picture, one can see an old hangar, part of the original complex of buildings of the airport. Her mother had a house right there where the hyacinths grew prolifically, and that she was proud of her garden; unfortunately, they had to raze the house. 
      Mentioning to her that I had stopped by there after Lita had mentioned the lovely field, she recognized her name and said that their sons attended school together. I promised her to print copies of my images and put them in her mailbox, which I did a week later.


Foggy Sunrises over Rifle Range Road




Canola Field at Sunrise





A canola field outside Electra. 
Information about canola in Wikipedia.




Saturday, March 14, 2015

Squirrel in a Box

     Living with squirrels means that occasionally I have to put down my book and watch their behavior in the trees. One squirrel decided to move into a bird box I placed between two tree trunks. Hopping in only when in rained, these days, the squirrel spends every evening in the box, and even moved in some soft material. It wouldn't surprise me if the material came from my neighbors' pool chair pillows.

Image-captures of squirrels can become endless. Here is one of a squirrel eating buds.



Lake Wichita

Old postcard-look for the lake as it looks this month. 

Sun Dog Through Window


Friday, March 13, 2015

Henbit

     Lamium amplexicaul is important for honey bees. And for humans, Wikipedia says that it is edible, with a peppery taste. When Lita mentioned that she enjoyed seeing the henbit, I stopped by for a quick shot and then printed a copy for her.



Monday, March 9, 2015

Cecily Maples


Cecily Maples' ceramics on exhibit in Lubbock. Exquisite work. Visit her on Etsy.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Poetry: Cold Bold

Twenty degrees Farenheit outside.
My fingers feel cold and painful.
I stare at my cockpit wondering
if my plane will start in this temp.

I wonder, too, if I should fly today
with the winds rushing from the north
at twenty-five knots gusting to thirty.
Is my decision to fly today dumb?

And how dumb? A saying starts
rattling in my head, There are bold
pilots and there are old pilots;
but there are no old bold pilots.

I blow warm air on my fingers,
my mind on the conditions of flight,
clear from here to the other side
of the skies but cold and windy.

Just another nice day for a pilot.
Sunny, no ice, no storms,
no lightning – is it a nice day
to fly with an old pilot, Beatrice?

I spot a car driving past my wing,
its occupant – a pilot, stares at me,
wondering, I’m sure, Why is she
flying in this temp, this wind?

Perhaps, I ponder, he’ll drive back
to tell me, Don’t go fly in this stuff!
The car makes a 180-degree turn,
stops by my wing. Its window

rolls down a little bit, revealing
a pilot’s eyes. Are you just sitting
in your airplane or are you gonna fly?
I was disappointed that he did not

tell me to go home, stay warm.
I opened my window and said,
I am actually going to fly, sounding
a bit bold to myself, a bit bold –

Really, I yearn for respect, I yearn
for other pilots to say of me, Damn she’s
a good pilot – and old, too, very old.
Then, he said, I’ll close your fuel door for you.

I wave from my cockpit, blushing –
look at my instruments as if
for the first time – and it is
the first time I will fly so cold, so bold.

Clear the prop – I say to no one.
They are all inside their offices
and homes warm, safe, sipping coffee
while I turn the key to start my plane

and manage my RPMs. My cellphone
lights up with a text from Beatrice.
Are we still gonna fly? she says from
her airport, fifty cold, windy miles away –

Yes, I reply, wondering about myself
being so bold this morning (so bold!)
hoping she will say, Let’s be old —
it’s too cold and too windy today –

She asks, Are you okay with these winds?
Why, yes, I say, surprised that I am
so bold yet still hoping she’ll say, Well,
I’m not. So don’t take off, don’t fly today.

It’s the computer in my plane –
it won’t come on, I say with glee.
The computer malfunction will
keep me on the ground – Give it

a few minutes, she says, it takes
a while in this temp to come on.
Monitors in my cockpit power up.
She hasn’t said to me, hey, let’s

not fly in this cold and this wind.
My cellphone lights up. Here it is,
I say to myself. She’ll tell me to stay.
Do you have a heater in your plane?
                                              - E B Hawley

Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin

Give Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On

Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.