Tag Archives: nature

all orange

the second tomatoe harvest
cradled in my palm:
all orange
_______
a bit warm for a run i say
as i run past the white-cut-off-tee’d and blue-jeaned farmer man
who’s walkign down the gravel road between trucks,
a road that, in my four years of running here, i’ve never encountered another human pedestrian
_______

the smallest of pink petals on the tiniiest zinnia (thumbelina variety)
blooming by my front porch
how it feels like the flower is saying hi
so i say hi back
_______

a serious-looking wasp-ish creature
the likes of which i’ve not seen before:
bright yellow antennae,
black tail about five inches long
and from where i sit on the saw horses
with moonstar in my lap
i see one mounted on another and then a third joins in
_______
the oncoming slow burn
which has me recognizing the blister beetle blister by feel
before i confirm it by sight
received most likely by being on my knees in the tomato beds
_______
just as i head out for a back-way walk
through the neighbor’s treeline i catch a view
of the radiant orange-pink
of the great sun-star
skinking into horizon
from the water world:

Participants cheer on a portable shrine carried by others as they parade through the sea during a purification rite at the annual Hamaori Festival at Southern beach in Chigasaki, west of Tokyo. – voice of america, day in photos

Izabayo, 13 years old, leaves the boat where he spent the night with 10 other fishermen after another fishing night at Lake Kivu. – voice of america, day in photos

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into a sky of lightning

up until this moment
i have never seen a bat yawn
but because there’s this one that sleeps
on my exterior wall under a window pane
and because i couldn’t help but move the hinged-down window just the slightest
to make sure the creature was still alive
the winged wonder awoke and resettled themself (i’m pretty sure ‘themself’ is not a word, but i really do want to stop calling living creatures and elements ‘it’)
yawning once, twice, then a third
exposing the tiniest and very sharpest looking fangs i may have ever seen
_______
the bowl of sweet bing cherries (black)
that i set on the table for lunch
and how i like thinking about how two days ago
i was plucking them from branches in the foothills of the coast range
wind in my hair
and how they traveled through time zones with me
(tucked in my pack as we rode north towards portland, and then as we took off and landed in portland than chicago, and then as i rumbled along on the el and on a bus through the rain and then
as i sidewalked in the drizzles and then as i hurriedly made my way to the brown line
and rocked to its rolling and then walked with the rushed throngs downtown to union station and then
settled myself into a window seat on the amtrak which eventually took us into a sky of lightning and then
tossed in the back seat of the cab of a white toyota that cynthia drove along the curves of county highways and back up the gravel driveway that i left out of two weeks ago)
_______
the unbelievable amount of minutes/hours it takes
to weave tomato branches into trellising and to weave trellising from post to post and to try so hard not to snap a branch but to hiss a curse everytime i do
_______
the new layers added
to the already mighty night chorus:
the long hurts-your-ears high pitch of what i think is called a prairie katydid,
the one off buzzy vibration of what might be grasshoppers,
and the once and a while cicada song

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into focus

the osprey (identified by Lo) perched on the far tip
of a coniferous branch
on the edge of the sandy river
in view
for us to tweak into focus
with the birdnoculars
_______
all the things that are sad about the sandy river:
the two plastic bags within 5 feet of each other on the shore/beach where we plop ourselves down,
all the plastic that the flotillas of fourth of july revelers are made of and all the alcohol in tow,
the glass bottle Lo pulls out of the water and the shiny metal bait with rusted hook that i pull out of the water,
the flattened aluminum can, the matted paper towel, the bits of smashed car window glass and all the other items of trash
lined up along the road we walk to get to the short steep trail that takes us beachwards
_______
all the things that are fabulous about the sandy river:
how the water surface shimmers down the way – think diamonds, think sequins,
a caddisfly in their casing slowly climbing up a bouldery rock in the water,
the crisp cool on my skin – it’s been too long since i’ve submerged myself in pacific northwest waters making me new again, 
the flicker of cottonwood tree leaves over us in the wind while up and up and up, the fluff of these trees floats slow against sky
_______

catherine unscrewing the orange liquer cap while gina and steve and i pass around the strawberries and whipped cream
_______

the impossible thud/book/crack
of fireworks
lit off in the not-distant distance
and how we do our best to seal ourselves in
from it all
but still 
_______
from the water world: 

A man dives into the Blue Eye river, a water spring and naturally-occurring phenomenon, near the Delvine district in Albania. – voice of america, day in photos

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called by the clouds

the slight sweat gathering
under pant legs and sleeves whilel i
wrestly poison ivy
along the down-sloping path
_______

the staggered ding! of the wind-up kitchen timer and the beep beep beep of my watch timer
while i stand in front of the two mighty pots
of water boiling before me
and the mountains of kale and collard leaves
that i drop in and then scoop out
_______
called by the clouds
i walk up on slaters hill and through clearings then woods then clearings
all the grass that was once there yellowing
in bales scattered
the jingle jang of jack’s collar sometimes alongside me sometimes up ahead but rarely behind
and the thunderclouds looming
clearer into view
and later when corinne tells me it’s solstice, i feel bad for not realizing/knowing
and then i don’t feel bad because i celebrated it
in my own small way
by being called
and heeding it
and walking even when the day was long
and celebrating: the deer prints in the wet earth, the black eyed susans coming up, the white tail of a deer scrambling off after my human presence rattles them, all the ornaments hung and flickering on night trees and sky (lightning bugs), the bat that seems to have taken up residence on the exterior eastern wall of my room
etc
_______
the cat who is called ashby
curled up on my loft bed as i write
_______
how most nights
the sound of so many bugs
colliding with screen over and over again
sound something
like rain

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encounters with the wild lives

never, until this morning, have i stepped out onto my porch to stand within three feet of a bat
as the bat cleans themselves
the quick flicks of their tiny pink-red tongue
and the bathing movements similar to that of a cat and bird
_______

we’re on a mission! emory says as we paddle our way
around the pond searching for tangled fishing line
that we pull out of the willows
_______

no real exact words
for the pom pom burst of milkweed blooms – sturdy purple-white flowers
opened
and their powdery lilac-ish-but-not smell
filling the room in which i dwell
where they are tucked in a small clear bottle
next to photos of some of the dearest
who have passed on

_______

i learned them as potty shots i say to emory who calls them granny shots
which i, in response, call them grampy shots
and we sometimes count from one to three and then say shoot while we simultaneiously each hurl a ball towards the net
_______

the small bouquet i arrange including day lilies
for a father whose first father’s day in 40-some or 50-some years
goes on without his daughter alive
_______

like a surgeon and their assistant  i say of emory, the lego assembler, and i, the piece-gatherer
as we follow our way through the instruction booklet
for the blue car with monster-ish wheels that, once assembled, one can pull back and then release
to set the vehicle in motion
_______
like going to church i say of my encounters
with the wild lives
that come into close range of my woodsy-edged dwelling
not the kind of church i am forced/expected to go to
but the kind of weird church i make 
and choose

_______

tropical  say of the sunset, which is this florida beach spring break neon pink orange kinds of colors
all under an arrangement of purple gray clouds
against powder blue sky

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all the greens becoming

lying on my stomach
on the cool wood floor
catching up on the poems
sent dailiy to my inbox
_______
the quality
of light flitered by the new green growing
off branches stretching overhead
and all the greens
becoming
_______

hauling the final garden cart of my stuff
(clothes) from karma
to the sugar shack 
and the satisfaction i feel of having moved
it all this way 
_______

headpiece i call the earphone/mic combo
which makes both shannon and i laugh
about codpieces
_______
)he little stained glass style hooded nightlight
(which is one of the things of janina siedlewski’s that i aquired)
sending the glow of small light
through its flower petal reds and offwhites
up in the sleeping loft
whose matress is currently draped in layers of bedding including
the afghan janina crocheted
(brght greens and purple-magentas)

_______
from the water world: 

Trash is seen on the polluted El Claro creek on Earth Day in Tigre, Argentina – voice of America, day in photos.

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at the red

the discipline it takes to keep myself
from trimming zoids (it will only be an hour)
on friday, the day of writing
_______
how, from the loft bed perch, i lay and stare
out all the windows:
at an american persimmon and its mottled bark swaying in the wind,
at the red of a cardinal inthe foliage along the chicken yard
at the big drips of rain rolling off the corrugated metal roof edge (which are different than all the little drops in the background which are imperceptible mostly, but create a gray haze),
at all the branches (bare) that will soon be filled in with green
_______
kayah, five years old, in the dinosaur onesie
swinging (by holding robs hand on one side and baigz’s on the other)
at dinner circle

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