What do I know, it just happens. This shot across the Talpa valley shows you where the snowline is. There’s a certain glory in this mess that’s helpful in a crunch, and am I not addicted to the drama, anyway? I spit on you, you ugly beast. (No, not this!) The days grow short but more intense. Less whine, more steel, the captain says, and kiss the girls on your way out.
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John Hamilton Farr lives in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. with his classical pianist wife. “Possibly the only place I can get away with this,” he says. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore (Bush’s Brain) put it in a review of John’s first book, “Buffalo Lights is the work of a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” John is the author of BUFFALO LIGHTS, TAOS SOUL, ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE, and THE HELEN CHRONICLES. He has been publishing online since 1996 (Zoo Zone, Farr Site, MacFaust, GRACK!, FarrFeed) and blogs regularly here at JHFARR.COM. See also → John’s Twitter profile, Amazon Author Page,
video channel at YouTube, and website photos at SmugMug. To email John, please see CONTACT INFO on About page.
Stephen SlottowNovember 6, 2013, 10:41 AM
It’s sad when the days grow shord.
JHFNovember 6, 2013, 12:59 PM
Beat up on a man when he’s down, will you?!?
[If you tuned in late, the reference is to a typo since corrected.]
This reminds me of the time my wife played piano with an ensemble at a gathering at a fancy house north of Taos. The host was the semi-retired set designer for the Seinfeld show, among others. Had a stuffed buffalo head on the wall, 12-ft sofas, yada-yada-yada. I was exhausted and shy and maybe a little drunk when I introduced myself, saying, “Hi, I’m the pianist’s…uh,wife. NO, wait! Geez…” (I have no idea how that happened.) A few minutes later, the dude introduced me to someone else, saying, “This is the pianist’s wife” and breaking into laughter.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” I said to him.
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It’s sad when the days grow shord.
Beat up on a man when he’s down, will you?!?
[If you tuned in late, the reference is to a typo since corrected.]
This reminds me of the time my wife played piano with an ensemble at a gathering at a fancy house north of Taos. The host was the semi-retired set designer for the Seinfeld show, among others. Had a stuffed buffalo head on the wall, 12-ft sofas, yada-yada-yada. I was exhausted and shy and maybe a little drunk when I introduced myself, saying, “Hi, I’m the pianist’s…uh,wife. NO, wait! Geez…” (I have no idea how that happened.) A few minutes later, the dude introduced me to someone else, saying, “This is the pianist’s wife” and breaking into laughter.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” I said to him.
“No, I’m not!” he replied.