1.1.12 Free Bradley Manning?

Last night was New Year's Eve. We celebrated by spending the early evening at the house of some friends, then returning to the island shortly before midnight. Snow was falling heavily when we left the house of our friends, feathery flakes the size of half-dollars. We took a walk around the island, as the wet snowflakes continued to fall, melting in our eyes and dampening our cheeks and noses.

When we reached the island's southern tip, the view of the bridges to the south was lovely, enhanced by a group of ducks gliding calmly along the surface in a southerly direction. However, when I went down to the very edge of the shoreline, the ducks turned and headed in my direction. That was sort of odd, I thought. My lovely companion commented that they seemed like rather large ducks. Sure enough, when they reached the shore and proceeded to hoist themselves up out of the water, it became clear that they were not ducks at all but Canadian geese. These creatures tend to be considerably less timid than ducks. They all came up on the shore and approached me with a sense of purpose, as though they had a bone to pick. Not one to be cowed by a gaggle of geese, I simply snapped some pictures of them with the camera I'd brought along, chatting to them all the while. I was assuring them that I would give them something to eat if I had anything, but sadly they were out of luck in this department (actually, I lied--I don't think I would have given them a crumb, I suspect feeding the local wild geese is not a great idea, the bloody birds have enough chutzpah as it is). I hope you enjoy the photos of our New Year's Eve visitors.

Upon bidding our feathered friends adieu, we ventured across the small wooden bridge leading to St. Anthony Main, and from there we continued on to University Ave., where we decided upon Keegan's Irish Pub for our New Year's Eve celebratory refreshment. We enjoyed sweet and tasty drinks featuring vodka and schnapps, and my companion tried her first 'Hot Toddy,' which featured brandy, and which grew on her a little but in the final analysis was probably not something she will ever have again.

This morning is the first day of 2012, and I commemorated it by performing my usual daily constitutional. First, I stopped along West Island Ave. to examine the two houseboats moored near the shore. I inspected them from a distance only, and wondered if either of them was actually inhabited. Must look into this.

Then, I examined the iconic Grain Belt Beer sign more closely than ever before--which is not to say that I attempted to climb it, although I did inspect it with an eye toward whether such a thing were possible. As it turns out, I could see no easy way to scale said sign. I did notice a ladder that would indeed facilitate access to a catwalk way up high at the back of the sign, but there appeared no way to gain access to the ladder, which is probably all for the best since there are certain temptations that are best left unexplored.

As I passed underneath the Hennepin Bridge, I noticed where someone had written on the pavement, in very large letters: FREE BRADLEY MANNING. Since I had no idea, I made a mental note to find out who Bradley Manning was, and continued on my way.

Walking along a snow-covered path that led to the Nicollet Island Pavilion, a place which hosts special events and which people can rent for parties or weddings and such, I noticed the flurry of footprints in the snow and the fact that they were all coming toward me and that I was going against the predominant foot traffic. And I pondered: is this often the case with me? That I go against the flow? That I don't follow the crowd, that I naturally pursue a path through life that is different than the majority? I didn't really know if that were true, but was pleased by the idea of it. There is nothing wrong with blazing one's own trail through life, nothing wrong with following what your inner voice commands ... I just think that it takes a bit of living before you can hear that inner voice clearly enough and before that voice has matured enough to be trustworthy.

As I rounded the Nicollet Island Pavilion, near the southern tip of the island, I noticed a silver standard-sized Christmas tree ball on the snow-covered ground. I considered for just a second or two before bending down and persuasively inviting the ball to accompany me on my walk. Moments later, at the tip of the island where the geese had accosted me the previous night, I spotted a perfect place for the ball and took the liberty of hanging it on the branch of a small tree. As I headed north along East Island Ave. and passed the Nicollet Island Inn, I noticed, chained to a No Parking sign, a bright green bicycle with orange reflectors attached to its tire spokes, and I felt inspired to do a painting which employed those colors, which I thought set each other off nicely. Just before reaching home, I spotted a bird of prey gliding across the sky. I thought it might have been a bald eagle, but couldn't be sure. I wondered where that bird was headed, and whether I would ever see him/her again. Whether or not I ever did, I had no doubt that he/she would continue to follow his/her inner voice, as I continued to follow mine.

Life flows on, in and around us--listen for its voice, whispering like the river.

D.E.S.