W. D. Ehrhart

Here’s to the Cardinal Puff

My wife and I put out seeds to feed the little critters in our courtyard: wrens and juncos, mourning doves, squirrels, chipmunks, now and then a rabbit. This morning a cardinal. That reminded me of Cardinal Puff, a drinking game we used to play on Okinawa back in 1968; I’

Night Stalkers

“I ask your forgiveness; I am a mountain tiger”

“Why does she ask forgiveness?/For what and from whom?/Why does she call herself/a mountain tiger?”

Smart Fish Don’t Bite

Cycling at Vésinet

One Little, Two Little, Three Little Indians

Dying in Amsterdam

“What magnificent coordination. A ballet/on wheels. Impossible, but there it was/day after rainy day, not one collision.”

On the Road to Damascus