Don’t Sweat The Small Stuff

bug, bugs, This week I am in Peterborough, New Hampshire teaching as part of a graduate school residency program. The faculty are all staying at this old estate in the town made up of three connected buildings. I have a room in the attic of the middle building––dark stained wood paneling run horizontal and vertical throughout. Each day since I have been here, I have been visited by a different insect or bug. Day one I was visited by a hornet. Go figure––it’s the beginning of January and some days have been below zero. Not sure where this guy came from. Day two, Mr. Cockroach was clinging to my bathroom faucet. I guess he was thirsty. That afternoon, there was a black fly on the window buzzing around––I’m certain you’d rather be indoors. Day three I was met but a lady bug on the toilet, another black fly on the window, a daddy long legs on the shower ceiling, and some funky creepy-crawly thing lurking on my window. Honestly folks, this is a nice place that I’m staying at!

Now, most people would be freaked out by these things. As for me, I can’t sweat the small stuff. Especially this week when I have aches and pains from a fall that forced me to make a visit to the ER.

I’m taking them (the insects that is) as a sign that they are here to look out for me. As long as you don’t bite me, or crawl in my pants, you are free to roam around. Stay warm and investigate. Hibernate or snack. Spring will be here in a few months.

Treetops and Stars

stephen dirado, photographer, stars, photograph

Celestial photograph by Stephen DiRado.

Treetops and Stars

As a young boy growing up in New Hampshire
I used to go to bed at night
listening to the peeping of the aquatic life in the pond.
The moonlight painted the treetops
and the stars were always visible and bright.
The warm summer air would whistle through my window screen
and an occasional mosquito would find its way in.
The air was damp and dew dripped
from the needles of the nearby white pine and spruce.
It was in this coastal community
where I began to find my way.

As I grew older
I left my boyhood home and moved south to Massachusetts.
Things were a little different than I was used to.
The peeping at night was replaced
by fire truck sirens, cars horns and choppers overhead.
My treetops and stars were replaced
by the twinkling lights illuminating the skyscrapers
built with brick and beams, and the constant stream of jets
following a similar flight path into Logan.

I think back to the winter months
when the days were shorter and the air was cold and raw.
The leaves were off the trees,
and the wind just whipped through
and the marshes had a coating of ice
that rose and fell with the tides.
The noise was minimal except for the distant wind chimes
that echoed my favorite tune.