It was quite the ride I was on this past weekend...I barely had time to breathe!  My schedule left me with no time to write about 8 events that I covered, until monday. 

I stayed up till 1 a.m. the next morning, then got up at 5:30 to kick-start production day.  Front page is pretty much all mine though, so that's cool.

I sure am glad I have the next two weekends off. Though we are in for one hell of a week as our Nation's Election day looms (this coming Tues)...at least we get Thanksgiving Monday off, though I'm told to enjoy it, as I am never to have another holiday monday 'off' again (because deadline is on mondays)  

My biggies this weekend included an 3-day Oktoberfest festival, and a Commuter Rail trial run day, with two century-old cars filled with dignitaries and media, that did not have amenities such as heat and a toilet I might add. 

Thankfully we had pit-stops along the way, and it was a beautiful day for my very first train ride ever, and I absolutely loved it! 

I totally drifted off, imagining myself abord a train travelling through Europe. 

Man the stuff I could write, or read while aboard a train!  I felt so inspired...

Speaking of inspiration, if the following Dudek poems are a few that caught my eye while reading his book Infinte Worlds.

A Small Rain

Evening. With the thin rain falling.

A sky like moonstone.

And here, a slender tree, at street-edge

one branch pointing left

skyward,

another, thin, slanting to the right.

And in the pale light-filled street

the first lamps, far

pearly, light blue

light green, red

of all colors

of all dimensions.

Out Of My SLeep Rise Dreams

ANd when I sleep, out of my sleep rise dreams

of bleating horns on empty silent seas,

of windless sails that pass like wounded men,

or harbour night, and fog, and dim

snowy light falling on my face and hands,

and of my lonely body walking there

like a ghost wanting something never found,

an old love or a lost land of the mind-

and in the unhappiness a breaking of glass

like a hand dashed at clear waterdostirbed;

something of boyood swimming on the face of dreams,

like scenes painted on cheap glassware, shines

full of the sun's brightness and the rich grass,

and a home in a place where once I stayed;

but all this like a stone slipping falls

down the well of memory, and a cold hand of air

strikes my face, and then I am awake;

but all the echoes of that harbour night

sound in my waking head and beat in my heart.

I Wrote It With Joy

I wrote it with joy, gladness -

with bells in my hands

and syllables for cymbals,

streamers and standards.

A human holiday!...

toy bugles from a candle tree

with drums umbilical

and flowers of confetti!

Whence the world on my lips,

mind's marriage with matter?

WHo put the music there

to consonantal clatter?

It played on a heart's string

as sharp as toothache,

and fell on the page like blood

in pain's mimic.

I made it without a try,

and it was sweet -

it fell from my finger-tips

like chattering seed.

~Louis Dudek 

Well that's it for me, I plan to get myself a bit of sleep tonight.  It's raining though, and I hope I'm not up because of a leaky roof again, I hope the problem's been fixed.

Ciao~

P.S.  Oh if you're interested, msg me and I'll send you the link to the newspaper I work for ;-)