Long yellow kayak —
Oarsman in bright green neon —
Slides through blue water.
Walkers and runners
Sprint, stroll, amble, gallop, trot
By flowing river.
Popemobile passing.
Hovering helicopters
Reporting the news.
(I know, two Saturdays are missing. I wrote them, I just can’t find them. That’s what I get for keeping so many notebooks. They’ll turn up.)
Sparrow on railing
Drops down, hides behind seawall
Until runner’s gone.
Park’s grass is still green
But in canopy above
Leaf tips turning brown.
White gulls, still water,
Smudged pale cotton clouds, blue sky,
Gray slate, black shadows.
…for a sweet New Year. It’s about to be Yom Kippur, so I’m signing off for the next 24 hours, but I wouldn’t want you to miss me. So here’s something to contemplate: me on a camel in the Gobi Desert. See you on the other side.
66th Street, south side, from the north side
66th St, north side, from the south side
We’re having technical difficulties with the Mongolia photos here at SJ Central but the computer and I have an appointment at the Genius Bar tomorrow so I have full confidence I’ll be able to inundate you soon. Meanwhile, I have stories in a few recent and upcoming volumes you might have missed.
Coming in October, HANZAI JAPAN, which contains the first new Lydia Chin/Bill Smith story in a long time.
Launching October 1 at Mysterious Bookshop in NYC, JEWISH NOIR.
And available today, PROTECTORS 2, HEROES, which is a fund-raiser for the National Association to Protect Children.
I’ll be at the JEWISH NOIR launch,
and at the first Noir at the Bar in Queens, on Oct. 16.
Between them, I’ll be in Jersey City, talking noir with Suzanne Solomon.
And of course, I’ll be at Bouchercon.
So see, even when the tech doesn’t work so well, I can still offer you things to read and places to go. See you soon!
Raindrops drum on roof.
Thunder rumbles, lightning bursts.
Tent stays warm and dry.
Bowing steppe grasses
Turning brown at summer’s end
Ready for harvest.
Gazelles pause on ridge,
Pour down hillside like water,
Flow into valley.
Moon’s set, stars shining.
Strange constellations appear.
Sky is black velvet.
Orange horizon.
Light floods over dark hillside.
Waving grass glows green.
Coffee water boils.
Metal spoons clink in glass mugs.
Air is cool and sharp.
Dawn in the Gobi.
Shadow of each rounded ger
Reaches for the next.
Desert basketball.
Shirts and skins, jumpshots, layups —
Just like anywhere.
Unexpected rain!
Roads wash out, tourist camps flood.
Camelgrass is lush.
I know I owe you guys a lot of posts — Mongolia, Italy, the new book, a bunch of short stories, all kinds of things — but it’s the anniversary of 9/11 and I’d like to just pause and remember. Back to you tomorrow.
Okay, you guys, this is it. I’m deeply into the OH NO I DON’T WANT TO GO stage of Travel Anxiety. Why am I doing this, I can’t afford to spend this much time away, all these things I’m missing, I’m spending waaay too much money… All of this fades when I’m on the plane but I’m not on it yet. Plane’s in early afternoon, I leave here mid-morning. Cat sitter’s ready to zoom in as soon as I leave and the cat loves him. Everything’s under control but this is the part I hate most.
Still, in 24 hours I’ll be in in Ulaan Baatar. So, as I’ve done before, I leave you with the words of Peter Fleming — adventurer and brother of Ian Fleming — who, traveling through Xinjiang Province in China in 1935, said, “He who starts on a ride of two or three thousand miles may experience, at the moment of departure, a variety of emotions. He may feel excited, sentimental, anxious, carefree, heroic, roistering, picaresque, introspective, or practically anything else; but above all he must and will feel a fool.”
That would be me, a fool. See you (with lots of photos) after Labor Day.
