Liz Spikol
editor / writer / photographer / Philadelphia wooder-drinker /
Liz Spikol
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Sometimes the world just looks a little…off.  (at Mt Airy)
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I have a beef with women and selfies on Instagram. They post images like this and then pretend the subject is not their cleavage. Like, “Feeling too lazy to go to the gym today, so no makeup.” Or: ” I hate Monday mornings.” Now, come on, ladies. We all know the truth. YOU ARE SHOWING OFF YOUR TITS. in this photo, I have cleavage. That’s the only text, subtext, metatext or midrash. And the reason I’m posting it, aside from making this point, is that I feel like crap about myself 98 percent 	of the time because I’m 46 and people recoil when I tell them that or say, “You don’t look 46.” What do they imagine 46 looks like? Maybe if I photographically say, “boobs?” It’ll help remind people that 46 is quite viable, thank you very much (though I did throw my back out yesterday). Boy, I bet I’ll regret this post tomorrow. Hoo-hoo. (at Mt Airy)
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When the guys in the truck in front of us — who I initially thought were dead but who were just traveling in style — saw me taking a photo, they started cracking up, which made me crack up, and my friend driving crack up, and then we were all laughing together on the 76. It was a great Philly moment.  (at Schuylkill Expwy)
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I have a queen-sized bed. One day I would like to get into it without battling a stubborn little dog — always smack in the middle of it — for space. (at Mt Airy)
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This human talks a lot but is rather comfortable to lean on.  (at Mt Airy)
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Apprehension. (at West Phildelphia)
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I always think of my favorite poems on a drive like this one:

TRAVELING THROUGH THE DARK
By William Stafford

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car   
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;   
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,   
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;   
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;   
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,   
then pushed her over the edge into the river.
 (at Batona Trail - Pine Barrens)
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I always think of my favorite poem on a drive like this one:

Traveling through the Dark
BY WILLIAM E. STAFFORD
Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

By glow of the tail-light I stumbled back of the car   
and stood by the heap, a doe, a recent killing;   
she had stiffened already, almost cold.
I dragged her off; she was large in the belly.

My fingers touching her side brought me the reason—
her side was warm; her fawn lay there waiting,   
alive, still, never to be born.
Beside that mountain road I hesitated.

The car aimed ahead its lowered parking lights;   
under the hood purred the steady engine.
I stood in the glare of the warm exhaust turning red;   
around our group I could hear the wilderness listen.

I thought hard for us all—my only swerving—,   
then pushed her over the edge into the river. 

 http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-e-stafford (at Batona Trail - Pine Barrens)
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The sun shines on Tastykake. Deservedly. After all, is there nothing so delicious as their cream-filled coffee cupcakes? (at Tastycake)
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"America is another name for opportunity." —Emerson (at R8 - Chestnut Hill West)