Hawk
From angular fir to crooked spar, Her luminous tail feathers split the air, Unzipping it, Revealing the curving hill and thickening grass Until even I, Weighted down beneath a coat of care, Saw this morning’s lustre …and hers.
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From angular fir to crooked spar, Her luminous tail feathers split the air, Unzipping it, Revealing the curving hill and thickening grass Until even I, Weighted down beneath a coat of care, Saw this morning’s lustre …and hers.
Read moreThe moon is lovely, large and bright. It lights the corners of this night. The clouds swirl round its rays like foam. It wades through them and lights me home. ———————-
Read moreThe meadow holds her breath this morning– Exhaling nothing. Even the grass frozen As she lies mute and bound The rounded hills of her chest tight with life restrained With cries she dares not sound. A captive, petrified in the steely chains of Winter, Waiting for the summer sun or even its paler solstice twin To heat her
Read moreOur Farmers’ Market Sing hey for the harvest. Sing hay for small towns. Let your pulse provide the beat and your neighbors the sounds. Flowers in the sun. Vendors in the shade Women with aprons and pastries they’ve made. Fill your mouth at the market. Let your heart with joy thrum. Taste the juice of the season And the soul
Read moreBalancing his mossy crown, Fat with summer feed He bounds through burrs and bristles. Beautiful as a buck in velvet. If it isn’t a saying, it ought to be.
Read moreSpilling over the hillside Splashing against the asphalt Bright white foam dripping over leafy waves. Scores of lilies rush against the road. Tumbling in the wind, wet from rain, scooping up the sun, tossing light across the glass–dragging me, a reluctant swimmer, from my car into their sea. Drenching me Refreshing me Until revived I pull myself to shore. Behind
Read moreRobin Surrounding myself with beauty, cushions me from some of life’s rougher moments. When I was younger, I memorized poetry–a nickle a line (thank you, Mom). Now, the words slip out of my mind like pearls from a box–rich and glowing–when life seems lifeless. One of my favorites is Emily Dickinson’s piece below the fold. The poem doesn’t explicitly name
Read moreFog Rising Frequent Photo Fog–the tangible breath of streamlet, tree and more Blurs the stolid forms of motors mountains men. We blunder through it Blindly, trying to see. Be still. Let it touch us.
Read moreHumboldt Bay Sunset Frequent Photo Humboldt Bay Sunset The Sun, a Chinese lantern, Collapses, fold upon fold. Putting itself away In the cupboard of the bay On which painted ducks fly dark above the water.
Read moreThe Fog Also Rises Daily Photo The Nikon Naiad’s Song When morning light throws golden nets Across the splash of Humboldt fog Fishing for creatures of the night, They scatter — Slipping into caverns of shadow Till the sun sails off to lay its lures in other waters. – – – But I, like Neptune’s errant wife, Hair still streaming
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