Category Archives: Uncategorized

when the gusts pick up

lean in i say lean in and savor it
not that he’s asking for advice
but this is what i offer
in the strawberry patch
regarding his current matters of the heart
_______
how are you with bird sounds
i ask and ask around again 
while we dig up strawberries for runners and while we crunch on crackers and carrot dip
so i can know the name of the bird
whose sound keeps captivating me
(later, after mica searches ‘magical sound’ and ‘forest bird’ she finds it: the wood thrush
and when i look it up in the bird book
i’m punched a little by the phrase declining in numbers in recent years)
_______
the wind shaking juniper berries out of the cedar tree
and the tray of ground cherry halves i guard
when the gusts pick up
so the detritus doesn’t land
on the sliced open fruits
laid out across the dehydrator trays
_______
the green smily face in the middle of the cross section
of the ginormous cherry tomato i just cut in half and when i see it
i cannot help but laugh
outloud
_______
emory tossing each clean item of his laundry (tshirts and shorts mostly)
just plucked from the line
onto the porch floor – which is a notoriously dusty surface
to fold them
_______
emory, eric and in
seated around the computer screen in the office laughing
at the beginnings of home alone 
which, turns out, is surprisingly more engaging
than i had anticipated
_______
how the moon
not yet full, but getting there
sends light through the trees so that i don’t need
do flick on the headlamp
on my way down the footpath
behind the priv
along the mushroom logs
to sugar shack

_______
from the water world:

People sit in water and play mahjong at a water park on a hot day in Chongqing, China. – voice of america , day in photos

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the kind of blue that lets light through

yeah, we could call it burning the man
i joke while we all joke on the front porch at lunch about how sandhill
becoming a festival
at which dj deep dish is a wedding officiant
and attendees can choose from a menu of five options
of what kind of ceremony they’d like
(hip hop being one of them)
_______
wearing steel toed combat boots and walking in formation to sit at a desk in an office kris talks about the weird comedic experience
of being a fema/americorps volunteer
and how we wore these shirts that said FEMA in huge letters on the back
and it was like wearing a ‘kick me’ sign, people hate FEMA
_______
a kind of summer victory:
tightening the final knot of the final string of twine of the final tomato trellising
not that the plants are done growing
but that the Tposts are only so tall
_______
there is something quaint
about tying brown bags around already-bloomed sunflower heads
to catch their seeds before the birds pluck them out
some things are just
that simple
_______
the drone/whine/buzz
of two hummingbirds divebombing the red-yellow sunflowers
at the south edge
of south garden
_______
me in my sandals and skirt and sleeveless tee
walking west on the gravel road that i first cut my gravel-road-biking teeth on (literally)
sentence by sentence whispering intentions
my finger hooked through the water bottle cap
which dangles and sways with each step
_______
and the sky:
broad feathery streaks
of luminescent cloud
painted across it,
the sky itself a dome
painted the kind of blue that lets light through
and beginning to copper and gold-rose
at the edges
_______
from the water world

People take a foot bath at a park in Tokyo’s Roppongi district, Japan. – voice of america, day in photos

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through the thin curtain drawn

somewhere between
the chicken coop and the whitehouse
before breakfast
i give myself over
to the impressive weeds in the fava bean bed
and come out of it all with that north garden sandy soil
coating my knees, calves, forearms and there’s probably some
on my face too
_______
kris and eric and i
clinking our mugs of summer blend tea
(with oatstraw)
over the butcher block
where dinner takes the form of peanut butter cookies
cooling on the racks and jill scott plays
in the background
_______
while back-forth stitching
black thread on black elastic
i meet luma mufleh
being her empathetic, badass and courageous self
on the center stage of a ted talk
titled don’t feel sorry for refugees,
believe in them
and it’s exactly as it should be  i think
when the audience standing-ovations her
at the end
_______
and something about jill scott in the background
and the lowering sun through the thin curtain drawn aross the kitchen west-facing window
and the way we three just sit and sip makes me feel
like we are at a sidewalk cafe
and the novelty of such a thing from here
makes it all worth it
_______
the heat breaking finally
just enough today 
that my sheet of eclipse stamps
is returning to the darkins
of it’s at-rest state

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signaling

close crow shadows
swooping over
as i sun salute and reverse twist and plow and cobra
on the light purple mat
placed in the backyard shrub shadows
on an already-heating-up day
_______
shiz and i hugging at the intersection, birdie baby crying
signaling our time
to part paths
i hope you know i later write you’re a big deal to me
_______
the crop of sores
some scabbed over
some open
on the arm of a woman talking to the person on the seat next to me
at the greyhound station while the cnn news person on the flatscreen
(volume cranked offensively loud)
talking about the u.s. and north korea
red and silver flash tape shining
in teh cherry tree branchs
where the mighty fruits dangle
in a range from bright red to black-red
_______
it is a small creek
but it is running
clear and cool and the sound
from where i arrange myself in a sleeping bag and under covers
as heard filtered through the foresty growth
accompanies the other sound
of several owls calling and responding and calling and responding
while almost-full moon glow
lights the sky as if the sun is just about to go down yet but hasn’t
even though it has

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feels like a direction

morning on the porch
i look to meet where mama cat’s gaze is pointing
to find a brown bat perched (right side up and three feet from me) on the exterior wall to my room
 and there are two things to say about this:
1. one of the things i love most about where i live is frequent (and close) encounters with wild creatures
2. each encounter feels like a direction or a guide for the day, how i carry their spirit/essence with me
_______
baigels, emory, mark and i
coasting with our arms out like wings
as if riding air currents high above
like a turkey vulture 
(which happens to be the name on our team)
as we head towards the tossed disc

_______

somehow, after living here for nearly four years,
i encounter/notice the wild yellow blooms of birdsfoot trefoil along the dancing rabbit pond path closely for the first time
and how i can’t stop marveling at both the shape of the blooms and also the sheer deep yellow/gold/almost orange color
of them all
________

it would involve a lot of ritual, like weeks or months leaing up toi say about how i don’t hunt but if i did
and I wouldn’t use a gun

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the almost

the almost iridescent indigo
of the first larkspurs flowering
on the edge of the herb garden
_______
abundance in the color red:
stainless steel bowl filled with strawberry harvest and
several buckets of cherries awaiting pitting
in the walk-in (and fruits still dangling
off the trees)
_______
how the rare sound of a helicopter overhead
most likley means someone is being airlifted
so when the chopper hums past today
i send wishes along with it
to whoever is aboard
and their dear ones
_______
only four pages into braiding sweetgrass and already
it is a good good book
_______
multiple encounters with the groundhogs
who live under my room
including standing a mere foot from a baby
before it startles off towards cover
and also including many shrieks/whistles
and scampering to shelter and also
several stare downs
and how this is one of the things writing is all about
(meaning: half of the writing
is looking/listening/watching and being curious)
_______
sound of the tractor rolling back in around sunset
from an emergency sorghum watering/rescue
and how the least i could do was clean up dinner
as a way to say thank you for caring
for the little planties
_______
how i leave the phone and ringer on
at night like an emergency hotline
so i can be there
just in case
_______
the lightning bug morse coding
with the on-off of its green LED-like light
as it crawls along the pane
of the cedar room’s north-facing window

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they say mountain lion

working my way down the spinach and pea bed
while trish works her way down the salad mix bed
the morning dew dampening our feet and shoes
reminding me of sauvie island farm mornings
where we woke with the sun
and went out to the greens
so that we could get to washing them before noon
_______
the wildcat sighting tyler reports 
seen on the gravel road on his way to town:
a bigger cat like creature and her young
from the size of it, he was guessing bobcat
(and later, emory and althea go out to inspect the tracks and scat
and, looking at the tracking book, they say mountain lion)
did you measure the tracks with your hand  i ask
_______
you are rich, i like having rich friends darien says
rich in kindness

_______
smudge of sunset
a short walk between meditation and calling it a night
light hues already disappearing into the beyond:
peach pinks and dusty purples
evaporating from horizon

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