Haiku Thursday 7/05/18


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The Fingerpost at Bowness

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Eighty-four-plus (includes wrong turnings) miles later I have completed walking the path of Hadrian's wall. I have learned some things and met a world of wonderful, joyous people. This photo is from the last portion of the walk. An old man in Port Carlisle has erected a fingerpost marking the distances to the ends of the Wall Path. He added fingers for walkers' hometowns, put a coin-slotted collection box on the post for donations, and opened his laptop for Google Maps. H is open garage just across the path sheltered his computer and his box of slide-in letters. I laughed out loud at the joy of it all. Of course I stopped. I had met Stephan and Sylive from the Czech Republic earlier on the Path at the Mithraic temple at the town of Carrawburgh (caRAWbruff) we had each stopped for a breather/water bottle/sandwich in a car park and were discussing which way the fingerposts were actually pointing. Stephan followed one sign; I followed the other. His went down the hill to t...
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Walking Hadrian's Wall . . . Heddon-on-the-wall

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The first time you actually see what is left of the wall, your impression is . . . "What?! I've come all this way for THIS?" And then you calm down; you take a deep breath, and you realize that what you're looking at is almost 1900 years old. OK. What's that mean. Well, for one measure, twenty-five other guys lived as long as I have in a straight line before me. I don't consider myself old, but I'm not exactly young either. I think there are at least twenty-five people  from my high school graduating class still kicking; I'm only in touch with half a dozen or so. So if all of us held hands, that piece of wall would be four times older than we are. My brother and all my family that I know of I don't think total that many years.  And that wall will still be there when we're gone. And with the way climate change is going, I wonder what the evolved humans who come through the other side will make of it. Thus for philosophy. Just flipp...
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Hail on V-E Day

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Interesting day in Paris in the Spring . . . Dragged out of the sack about eight of the clock (we'd been up reading last night till midnight), and, stuffing each of our laundry bags into my on-its-last-legs-overnight bag, slogged off to the "Club'Lav" over a couple of blocks. Yes, I -did- stop to pick up an apple-stuffed flaky pastry for munching during the wash cycle. Slow morning. Strolled to the end of the block to discover the Folies Bergère. Paris is a medieval city still. Yes, Hausman's avenues slice straight lines across her, but when you get off those straight lines, the Lord in His wisdom knows where you'll end up and what you'll find. I've passed the rear of that building several times and never had a clue. As well as palaces and museums and historical sites . . . you have to have a destination in mind. Walking the streets in this immediate neighborhood I have found half a dozen five-star hotels on streets ...
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