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Virginia Nicholson

How To Build A House In N-Dimensions

1. Begin with lines, pencil to paper (if they could exist) drawing graphite arrangements, N-space reduced to one, a structure viewed in slices. Imagine the bathroom off the foyer, the den off the dining room, viewable only as inked lines, dit-dit-dah, a contractor’s Morse Code.

2. Progress to carpet squares, linoleum tiles, the coral paint pairs well with the eggshell trim.  Dit-dah-dit becomes something useful to the non-contractor, “door” or “Master Bedroom” or “x hundred feet of pipe.” Envision the imagined patterns hidden in the bathroom floor, the kitchen hardwood.

3. Move to volumes, solids, conic sections, height. One story, two stories, a basement, an attic?, take advantage of the introduction of 3D. Upgrade the closet to walk-in, needs more carpet squares. A snapshot of a family barbeque, Charlie’s height 1D penciled in to the 3D door, marring 2D eggshell paint.

4. Adding time, the house is built, ages, gets sold to new families with little Charlies of their own, new markings on the cupboard door, 3-foot-2, 3-foot-5, 4-foot-9. Grass fades from Kelly to sand to Kelly, saturation a cosine function with respect to time. The Zoysia starts in one, breaking ground in two, growing in three, a well-manicured 4D experience.

5-11.    Include the things invisible to us, objects on the order of 1 meter, orders of 10E-2 to 10E9 seconds. Five to eleven drip through leaky pipes, seep through porous flooring, get lost in iron-rich soil and oxygenated exhalations. Five to eleven stay hidden, wrapped up in Calabi-Yao manifolds smaller than graphite hills and valleys marking little Charlie’s height, stronger than the 2-by-4s and stone foundation keeping strong in 4D. Five to eleven circulate undetected, seven dimensions shrunk to sub-pinpoint size, keeping seven dimensions of unexplainables covered until their traces are seen in the blades of Zoysia.
Kinetic waves of sweet water blessings , steaming blacktop
thoroughfares , trickling from gutter caps , rushing from downspouts , tapping my bedroom window like a childhood friend calling me to venture out
Petrichor melodies , Sun glistening Red Tip hedges
Wetted , diamond zoysia gardens
Culling roadside berries with cool naked
feet , with operatic fantasia rumbles the ubiquitous ' Thunder Roll ' , Blackbird gaggles resume their familiar treetop chorus in the ebony sky retreat of the afternoon Chattahoochee Summer heat* .......
Copyright July 29 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Through hazy , seasoned myopic eyes all the sights and sounds of woodland creatures do enchant and amaze !  Robins relay the message of my presence , White tailed deer barely render a nod and continue to graze ..
Fall Georgia skies painted by the renaissance artist , chilled zoysia and fescue cools the feet of the timid , skeptical albeit grateful introvert ..
Dirt roads pretend to run forever this morning , playful Sun hides like the gifted actress , behind gray blankets ! Resolute .. Cunning ..
White Pines bear witness to the active forest , Eastern gray squirrels signal impatiently , awaiting the call of Winter ..
Random thoughts collect like silver rainwater pools , virtual bastions of aquatic life that dot the landscape , olive brush strokes , red Maple swirls , prolific Water Oaks recall young boys in search of newts , mud puppies and tadpoles ..
Songbirds hide within briar thickets performing their daily song list for all that would give ear , rock bass and bream gorge on a bounty of white flies served by the morning breeze .. The pond is a looking glass today , sharing her piece of colorful sky for childlike imaginations such as mine , tiny frogs providing musical accompaniment with glorious song while Angelic host incessantly highlight her surface with gentle blue and green hues , soft tones ..
Copyright November 10 , 2015 by Randolph  L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
To remove one free floating spider web , catch a Pine seed hurtling to the earth ..  To pinch off a pristine blade of zoysia grass , strip one tiny piece of precious bark from an Elm ... Retrieve a segment of quartz , to flick one crystalline granite stone .. Drop one grain of sand into clear running waters , to utter one sound across these auditorius sacraments ...
Copyright March 12 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

Panola Mountain State Park in Ellenwood  , Georgia ..
At the collision of timothy and zoysia , where Crape Myrtles reveal their late morning luster , where luminosity and cloud continually sketch , color and reinvent open pastures , individuality forever fading , leaving sadness at the afternoon approach then gone
Hours without occupation , warmth and windsong  
Tethered , embittered and hidden*...
Copyright May 4 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
A mating pair of bluebirds do well on this parcel of land , reach for Sun on this day , every herb and fruit above emerald zoysia with manmade furrows at random ,  morning dew on nightshades toppled from the violence of Thor , returned to peace in the nurture and admonition of my creator ,  my garden at rest , my Summer lover* !
Copyright September 10 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Ryan R Latini Aug 11
I knew
Friday night TV light
Trailer kids
Bottle-rocket sizzle
Quick gravel crunches
Giggles behind a fender.
 
Day-night amalgams
Video poker and ****** fog
Sidewalk thermal vent nap-takers
Torch lighter hisses
Boulders sublimated to smoke

Toe-curling sigh
And crying at the dawn.
 
I want to know
Tree house daydreams
Kitchen curtain springtime
AC hum in iced-tea twilight
Spinning
Zoysia grass between babies' toes
You laughing, and I:
 
The mad man, white beard laughing,
Praying in the shrubs
For the breeze to move the curtain
So that he may see.
The bright color of their yellow flower,
Wild mustard, line the creek side,
As I look out my window, sitting comfortable inside.
A dominate color, of the season is green,
From the zoysia  grass, to the fifty-foot trees,
Through the screen, I can hear the birds sing,
As they seem to float by, with the breeze,
A very natural scene, as far as my eyes can see.



Tom Maxwell © 06/17/2020 AD 3:10 PM

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