When I was small we used to go to my maternal grandmother’s house every other Sunday. It was in town. I wasn’t much for towns, even then. Didn’t really see the point of them. But she kept a small box of toys for me in the sideboard. Ah, the sideboard. An institution back then. Sherry, sweet or dry, in one end. Fancy plates and best glasses in the middle. In the other end my box of tricks. Half remembered. A little red fire engine for sure. A die-cast Spitfire if memory serves. Maybe that came later. At any rate, the box of toys was mine and a joy. But lived in granny’s house.
It got me to thinking. About subverting the genre of swop. Just in the absent-minded way that we might think of building a raft out of 5 gallon plastic jerrycans and that old wooden wheelbarrow at the back of the shed. Sort of thing we might actually do. Or not. Depending on how we both felt at the time.
What if we swop. Things that were mine are yours and vice versa. Well, such things are never really either ‘mine’ or ‘yours’, of course. We just have them in our hands for a moment. So let’s just say that they ‘change hands’. But they stay where they are. Then some of my stuff is in your house and some of yours is in mine. A kind of magic trick like quantum entanglement at a distance. Only better. Everything stays the same but everything changes. Plus, the things themselves won’t feel lonely or lost. They will join a web of connection but not lose the one they have.
Well, just a thought. What do you reckon? I’m easy. Or we could build that raft. The possibilities are endless.
(Oh, I put a picture of your things in a note – I don’t think I can attach to a comment.)
I, David Perry do solemnly swear that I have seen and taken metaphysical possession of these treasures from a faraway land, and that having done so, took upon my person, and am even now wearing across my recently awakened and whiskered face the actual smile of playful satisfaction that was sent along with them. It seems an almost perfect fit.
I do however need to note that included in this most auspicious package are several tiny, undocumented feathers of uncertain origin, whose parentage my tilted ear strains to hear clearly, though for a moment I thought I might have sensed the wren-like lilt of a sunrise greeting… These exquisite but né mentioned accompaniments add a palpable immensity to the overall which any true friend would certainly mention, and hope to honor, honorably…
I knocked on your front door back in November of 23 , so very new to Substack, I really had no idea what it was all about, shyly and probably red cheeked and blushing , I apologized for being late to the party , I believe you were having a potluck dinner or something of the sort. You told me I was just in time and graciously invited me in .
( Post- If you knew…9/16/23 comments)
Been hanging out with your words and photographs ever since. As you know, I am just a reader, with comments that are way too long. I only read a small group of writers, and I feel fortunate to have my favorites, you being one of them. Having the opportunity to travel to faraway places, or kneel patiently, waiting for just the right image to appear in the camera lens, witness and imagine , through words and photographs . Oh the stories I am privileged read . I am deeply grateful for the sharing. I started reading David Knowles back in February of 24. I absolutely love reading about your friendship. If you two ever meet in person, I would like to reserve a seat by the camp fire. I can just imagine the storytellers at play. I promise to bring a gift, an Elk Haired Caddis; hook size 12, dry fly. Oh, and a fist sized quartz rock, pink and gold ,shaped in a perfect heart, that happened to just appear in front of my right foot one day. And if that’s not enticing enough , a small black rock, shaped like a pocket knife that fits in the palm of a hand, I swear there is a hieroglyph of a fish painted on it.
On a side note, I’m pretty proud of myself for identifying the snake skin and owl pellet , very cool.
Do I have words for how much I love this? I don’t think so. But they’re in my heart just as sure as the bone tales are woven in the weighty pellet. And this exchange lightens my heart like doing cartwheels across a summery lawn.
Dear David(s), I am too shy to ask and of course I don't have the right letters to form the words - no matter how I turn Susie around it will never speak David(s) - but I do have a treasured hare scut found, mercifully minus any other part of its fine body, laying on a mossy hillock under the great oak, a fern frond fossilised in limestone, rescued from the ruins of the 'four à pain' and several fine roe buck antlers which tripped me up in fields of barley during my evening wanders...
I don't know if these compare but I offer them as friendship in childlike timidity and hope... 🙏🏼
PS I also know of a derelict and secret place for spying on wild things...
You do realize, don't you Susie that you do not need to dig through your pockets for just the right 'thing' to buy your way into friendship with me. You picked that lock months ago, waltzed in, poured yourself a cuppa and settled into an empty seat beside the fire. When you hear those hopeful words "tell me another story." you know your friendship is sealed.
I’m laughing Susie, yeah, I’m not a David either, turn my name and I’m just a - roL. I see we are both digging into our pockets ( in my case, backpack) looking over our handful of treasures. Ooh, a “…secret place for spying on wild things” , icing on the cake.
Cake in your pocket, they have that kind of thing in France , is that a found object or a long cherished one ? All right , I’ll stop encouraging her, I think it’s obvious we could go on and on.
Oh my heart. What enchantment. This is my place, where my soul belongs. This corner of Substack, of poetry and nature and unending and boundless creativity, of beautiful and wonderous connections and friendships. Utterly delighted to observe this magic ✨
I'm enchanted...totes, totes...I love peeking in to the offerings of friendship...the magic of this exchange makes me sooo happy, like clapping my hands and jumping up and down as a child...
"Your artist soul understands this like breathing, I suspect", says your friend who just a few hours ago was holding one of your magical, fired clay pots, grateful for its energetic addition to this home as the daylight was fading.
This makes me so happy! Joining the childlike openness to giggle and skip around the house, rejoicing in adults refusing to wear armor and instead meet one another with scraped-knee, blanket-fort abandon. My Dave was reflecting on the friendships I’ve made on Substack and had something quite keen to say about it: ordinary life is rife with boxes and boundaries and labels and “filters” through which we consciously or unconsciously “select” our friends. Substack instead removes those typical filters and we find one another, choose one another, by seeing straight into the heart, soul, values, and virtues of one another. He said it’s like mainlining heroin but instead of heroin, friendship, true friendship dancing in our veins.
Kimberly, please pass along to your David, one David to another, and whilst regarding yet another, that he seems as astute an observer of Substack's virtues as he is kindhearted in his willingness to help soften the sharp edges of the world for hard-luck cats...
Nobody does it quite like David Knowles. And, nobody does it quite like David E. Perry. So honored to know you both, and to witness this pen-pal-ship in its formative days.
https://substack.com/@davideperry/note/c-85616428
Dear David,
When I was small we used to go to my maternal grandmother’s house every other Sunday. It was in town. I wasn’t much for towns, even then. Didn’t really see the point of them. But she kept a small box of toys for me in the sideboard. Ah, the sideboard. An institution back then. Sherry, sweet or dry, in one end. Fancy plates and best glasses in the middle. In the other end my box of tricks. Half remembered. A little red fire engine for sure. A die-cast Spitfire if memory serves. Maybe that came later. At any rate, the box of toys was mine and a joy. But lived in granny’s house.
It got me to thinking. About subverting the genre of swop. Just in the absent-minded way that we might think of building a raft out of 5 gallon plastic jerrycans and that old wooden wheelbarrow at the back of the shed. Sort of thing we might actually do. Or not. Depending on how we both felt at the time.
What if we swop. Things that were mine are yours and vice versa. Well, such things are never really either ‘mine’ or ‘yours’, of course. We just have them in our hands for a moment. So let’s just say that they ‘change hands’. But they stay where they are. Then some of my stuff is in your house and some of yours is in mine. A kind of magic trick like quantum entanglement at a distance. Only better. Everything stays the same but everything changes. Plus, the things themselves won’t feel lonely or lost. They will join a web of connection but not lose the one they have.
Well, just a thought. What do you reckon? I’m easy. Or we could build that raft. The possibilities are endless.
(Oh, I put a picture of your things in a note – I don’t think I can attach to a comment.)
Best
David
I, David Perry do solemnly swear that I have seen and taken metaphysical possession of these treasures from a faraway land, and that having done so, took upon my person, and am even now wearing across my recently awakened and whiskered face the actual smile of playful satisfaction that was sent along with them. It seems an almost perfect fit.
I do however need to note that included in this most auspicious package are several tiny, undocumented feathers of uncertain origin, whose parentage my tilted ear strains to hear clearly, though for a moment I thought I might have sensed the wren-like lilt of a sunrise greeting… These exquisite but né mentioned accompaniments add a palpable immensity to the overall which any true friend would certainly mention, and hope to honor, honorably…
…even if we do build that wheelbarrowish pram.
There are not enough hearts and likes or words to express how much I love this post and the ongoing conversation between you two Davids!
I knocked on your front door back in November of 23 , so very new to Substack, I really had no idea what it was all about, shyly and probably red cheeked and blushing , I apologized for being late to the party , I believe you were having a potluck dinner or something of the sort. You told me I was just in time and graciously invited me in .
( Post- If you knew…9/16/23 comments)
Been hanging out with your words and photographs ever since. As you know, I am just a reader, with comments that are way too long. I only read a small group of writers, and I feel fortunate to have my favorites, you being one of them. Having the opportunity to travel to faraway places, or kneel patiently, waiting for just the right image to appear in the camera lens, witness and imagine , through words and photographs . Oh the stories I am privileged read . I am deeply grateful for the sharing. I started reading David Knowles back in February of 24. I absolutely love reading about your friendship. If you two ever meet in person, I would like to reserve a seat by the camp fire. I can just imagine the storytellers at play. I promise to bring a gift, an Elk Haired Caddis; hook size 12, dry fly. Oh, and a fist sized quartz rock, pink and gold ,shaped in a perfect heart, that happened to just appear in front of my right foot one day. And if that’s not enticing enough , a small black rock, shaped like a pocket knife that fits in the palm of a hand, I swear there is a hieroglyph of a fish painted on it.
On a side note, I’m pretty proud of myself for identifying the snake skin and owl pellet , very cool.
Do I have words for how much I love this? I don’t think so. But they’re in my heart just as sure as the bone tales are woven in the weighty pellet. And this exchange lightens my heart like doing cartwheels across a summery lawn.
Imagine me smiling, Holly. Thank you.
Yes, please, yes to a bit more enchantment.
Just terrific! A great feeling inside after reading this. Glad to discover your words and friendship.
Dear David(s), I am too shy to ask and of course I don't have the right letters to form the words - no matter how I turn Susie around it will never speak David(s) - but I do have a treasured hare scut found, mercifully minus any other part of its fine body, laying on a mossy hillock under the great oak, a fern frond fossilised in limestone, rescued from the ruins of the 'four à pain' and several fine roe buck antlers which tripped me up in fields of barley during my evening wanders...
I don't know if these compare but I offer them as friendship in childlike timidity and hope... 🙏🏼
PS I also know of a derelict and secret place for spying on wild things...
You do realize, don't you Susie that you do not need to dig through your pockets for just the right 'thing' to buy your way into friendship with me. You picked that lock months ago, waltzed in, poured yourself a cuppa and settled into an empty seat beside the fire. When you hear those hopeful words "tell me another story." you know your friendship is sealed.
Jeez, I've that glowing heart feeling going on again... and its -7c outside 💛
I’m laughing Susie, yeah, I’m not a David either, turn my name and I’m just a - roL. I see we are both digging into our pockets ( in my case, backpack) looking over our handful of treasures. Ooh, a “…secret place for spying on wild things” , icing on the cake.
Lor, I have cake too and my pockets are deep...!
Cake in your pocket, they have that kind of thing in France , is that a found object or a long cherished one ? All right , I’ll stop encouraging her, I think it’s obvious we could go on and on.
Absolutely, cake, cheese, sausage, and the odd garlic scented beret found on the street! ;-)
You two crack me up...
and I am most humbly grateful.
And that is as much as I (we) could wish dear David.
Ohhh, Davids. Your ways of seeing and being here is much appreciated. Generous of you two to share this friendship.
Oh my heart. What enchantment. This is my place, where my soul belongs. This corner of Substack, of poetry and nature and unending and boundless creativity, of beautiful and wonderous connections and friendships. Utterly delighted to observe this magic ✨
I'm enchanted...totes, totes...I love peeking in to the offerings of friendship...the magic of this exchange makes me sooo happy, like clapping my hands and jumping up and down as a child...
Me too!
"Your artist soul understands this like breathing, I suspect", says your friend who just a few hours ago was holding one of your magical, fired clay pots, grateful for its energetic addition to this home as the daylight was fading.
Thank you for the smile and warm heart while reading this post. And by the way, I’ll always be your friend💫
...since we were lost kids trying to seem ok. Always.
This makes me so happy! Joining the childlike openness to giggle and skip around the house, rejoicing in adults refusing to wear armor and instead meet one another with scraped-knee, blanket-fort abandon. My Dave was reflecting on the friendships I’ve made on Substack and had something quite keen to say about it: ordinary life is rife with boxes and boundaries and labels and “filters” through which we consciously or unconsciously “select” our friends. Substack instead removes those typical filters and we find one another, choose one another, by seeing straight into the heart, soul, values, and virtues of one another. He said it’s like mainlining heroin but instead of heroin, friendship, true friendship dancing in our veins.
Kimberly, please pass along to your David, one David to another, and whilst regarding yet another, that he seems as astute an observer of Substack's virtues as he is kindhearted in his willingness to help soften the sharp edges of the world for hard-luck cats...
A tip of my cap, in respect.
Nobody does it quite like David Knowles. And, nobody does it quite like David E. Perry. So honored to know you both, and to witness this pen-pal-ship in its formative days.
Such a lovely, generous note, Rebecca. Thank you.