David K. Leff, Essayist, Poet, Lecturer

A Path Lit by Bright Slime Molds

The brightest floral color along a popular stretch of rail-trail that follows the Farmington River near my Collinsville, Connecticut home has nothing to do with flowers.  It’s a phenomenon I’ve never before  witnessed.  And though it is a natural event, it was brought about serendipitously by human activity.  For the last few weeks the path has been lit by iridescent, gelatinous orange slime molds growing on a series of freshly cut tree stumps.

Discovering Roadside Litter

Trash along our highways is a kind of free-form, multi-media graffiti.  Such displays follow wherever travel leads: along commuter routes, vacation byways, and in the gutters of streets around town.   Items made for distinct, useful purposes have either escaped or been tossed away.  They’re distributed by the wind and transformed by rain and sun.  Paper, plastic, glass, wood and metal objects form a constantly changing collage as they degrade or conditions on the road’s median or shoulders change with time and the season.

Disgusting Beauty

What disgusts me at first frequently reveals a ripening, hidden beauty.  Often, I’m startled less by a revolting object than my growing appreciation of it.

A few days ago I found a raccoon carcass on a utility right-of-way paralleling the Farmington River not far from home.  No road kill, it was neither flattened nor desiccated on pavement.  All that remained was the vertebral column and a blood reddened ribcage connecting a battered head and mangy tail.  So worn was the ringed tail, that the most eager Davey Crocket wannabe wouldn’t pin it to his hat, and no self respecting teenager would tie it to a car antenna.

At the Sign of the Giant Hot Dog

Driving in unfamiliar territory at lunchtime, I was famished and cruising for a place to grab a bite.  Despite being on the alert for food, I would have missed a tiny gem of a take-out eatery if not for the sign.  It wasn’t a brightly colored internally lit piece of plastic or beckoning twists of colored neon that caught my eye, but a rather large, rough cut wooden hot dog with a streak of mustard across the top and a phone number emblazoned on the bun.  I made a hard, sudden turn into the next driveway without even having seen the restaurant.

The Voices of Trucks

Every truck has its individual sound, whether moving along the pavement or at idle.  Like a birdwatcher identifying various species by their song, I’ve no need to look out the window to know what teamster-borne commerce is flowing through my neighborhood.  Each vehicle has its own voice expressed by its engine, brakes, doors, backup alarm and other elements.

Woodpecker Telegraph

On a walk through the old and moldering Collins axe factory a few days ago I stopped short on hearing a rhythmic rapping punctuating an atmosphere suffused with distant traffic sounds and the whine of leaf blowers.  Listening and looking around for a few moments, I at last spied a downy woodpecker banging its beak against the gable of a wooden elevator shaft rising over three stories beside a hulking stone edifice that stands like a fortress at the edge of the Farmington River.  Built in the mid 1840s, it’s said to be the oldest stone factory building in the State of Connecticut.

Looking Up in New Haven: An Architectural Odyssey

Things were looking up in New Haven not long ago, or at least I was doing so.  I spent several hours wandering the downtown streets with the decided intention of gazing at the tops of buildings just for  the pleasure of it.  In a kind of windowless window shopping I wasn’t out to buy anything and walked away with nothing but photos.  I had no purpose but a kind of vagabond looking.

Rags, Art, and Memory

Everyone has a rag collection.  Tucked away in a cabinet, on a shelf, or filling a closet bag, rags are close at hand though out of sight.  Generally soft, absorbent fragments of cloth, we use them to wipe dirty  surfaces, clean up spills, and to take care of the most indelible messes.  Though unwanted scraps of castoffs, they hold an everyday magic we rarely contemplate.