Tag Archives: owls

the only detail that needs to be written

the only detail that needs to be written today is this:
i sleep in a loft and there are two long skinny windows up there – one at my head and one alongside me.
this morning, i woke up to catch the copper-orange sun glow in the sky, mottled by the woods i live tucked in, but still some of that redorange light meeting my greenbluebrown eyes.
i was super sleepy and heavy lidded and in this glimpse, i also saw what looked like a bat – perhaps the one that sleeps everyday on the exterior side of the wall that i sleep on the interior side of
so i laid my head down again before i turned over and propped myself, resisting with a ferociousness the heavy sleep wanting to roll back in, on elbows to just watch (one of my most favorite activities of all time – just watching, especially in a more wild setting)
another sight of a bat flitting by but then
(here is the magic) one small owl landing on the young maple trunk that leans more horizontal than vertical
gray in color and when i say small i mean about 8 or so inches tall
and then another swoops in and they do their funny head dance and for a while it is just them on that trunk probably not more than 20 feet from me
and then i notice a third on that very same trunk
and then one by one they swoop off to other branches and limbs where i can still watch them until they each swoop off yet again and this
is the world saying good morning
to me

_______
another detail (can’t resist)
wherein the phrase comes into my head
that goes you
have so much
to look forward to

_______
and a third, irresistable detail:
moonstar the cat
(who i must carry to my room
if we have a sleepover
because there’s a certain point where she seems to get too scared to follow me
through the dog terrain)
meowing at my window tonight
and how i can’t stop telling her
how brave she was
_______
ok, and a fifth:
the owl calls and hoots and shriek
10pm (barred owls, eastern screech)
going off overhead
and i feel like i am in a treehouse
sleeping with them
and in a sense, i kindof am

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

glimpse of a great grey wingspan

space, lots of space
cynthia says when i ask her
about her trick for roasting potatoes
as we sit to eat the new round wonders
for dinner
_______
the bright orange skin
of citrus in flecks after running
a grater along the rounded fruit surface
_______
sophia smelling snapdragons and asking
the name of the irridescent purple flower
how it takes more hours (the entire afternoon)
than i anticipated
_______
the pleasure of a sharp knife
slicing through the hard/thin skin
and soft insides of a
deglet noor date balanced with
the impatience of
getting it done
_______
mo talking about how she surprised herself
by forgetting and then just remembering
how she fell from a ladder and then
hugged the rough bark of the cedar on the way down
how it scraped her up
and how, in some ways, she kindof liked the falling
_______
unnamed phenomenon: when one kid
sees another kid playing
with a toy of the first kid
who previously did not give two fucks about that toy
loses their shit because
this other kid is playing
with a toy they all of a sudden love so much
it’s almost unbearable
(or how, as an adult
you put a clothing item in the freebox – ready to let it go
and then you see someone else rocking it
and you regret giving it up)
_______
this happens at least once a year
joseph says laughing with crinkly eyes
(that i know are there even though its dark)
about missing the entrance
to the field we drive across to get back to sandhill
and how all of us in the back laugh and laugh again
about the scenario
which, when we choose the wrong entrance,
the wrong field with the drop off,
makes him even more deteremined to do it right
_______
sortof explaining chakras to sophia
on the dusty star-strung ride home
i talk about how the red one
is emergence/life force
and how the blue one
which is about voice and communication
is over the throat
but i’m no expert i say
_______
two owls in two days
i think

to myself with the wind
moving along my arms
and through my hair
in the back of the truck
after i turned to joke with joseph
in the drivers seat and catch
a glimpse of a great gray wingspan
in the shine the headlights cast

_______

1B6D94D4-501E-4F71-945C-5281EEE6634F_w974_n_s
Rescuers carry a resident from a flooded building in Chongqing, China. – voice of america, day in photos

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

letting light in

forsythia branches crossing over us
hatched – letting light in like
light through lace
while emory saws and lops off branches
of what i later call
the fortsythia
_______

working the soil block mix
like bread dough i lean
my entire body into it
_______

moonstar the still-kitten cat
seen opaquely from underneath,
her paws padding up the greenhouse roof panels
which underneath  i drop seeds
into their soil blocks
(two varieties of cabbage: murcof and caraflex,
four varieties of kale: vates, red russian, white russian, and rainbow lacinato)
_______

rutty road in shades of brown and gold
underneath me as i press/pound on
towards creek bridge and away again
in this sometimes made-of-lead, sometimes
made-of the lightestness
_______

toasted hazelnuts on top of
baigz’s not-too-sweet brownies (that he
cracked earlier today) which i
dollop with left over fresh whipped cream
and sprinkle with triplespice
(cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom)
gathered in a pinch of fingers
from the tin that traveled with me
for the past three months
_______

something upsetting happened
so her cellmate gave her a hug
and a guard walking past saw
so they each got a month in solitary (for hugging each other –
the prisoners aren’t supposed to touch)
trish tells me of fran locked up
3 hours from here
_______

tyler as conductor, trish as baton-tosser
baigz on trumpet, joseph on sax and emory on trombone
playing the go! fight! win! song after dinner in the kitchen
_______

in the dim of the moonless night,
though i can’t see, their sounds give them away:
shriek-honk of traveling geese high overhead
plus owl calling off in the distance

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

the letting-in of light

fog patches
in first peach light
hovering above the
rolls and dips of
prairie
how they move
like benevolent monsters
across the landscape
as an owl
lets out its first screech call
followed by the usual
who cooks for you sounds
_______

the spider
that lives in the breadbox
and shuffles around
and the letting-in-of-light
every time i hinge it open
to reach for the bread
and how this spider makes me think of ryan’s spiders
and his poems in which his spiders live
_______

rusty blackbirds
redwing blackbirds
brewers blackbirds
are a few of rachel’s suggestions
(migration season
the males usually travel in a group
and the females in a separate group
and the young ones in a third)
about my conundrum from a few weeks back
of the bird party
lifting and falling like wave
from one of the huge field trees
_______

well cross that bridge
when we come on it
rachel and i can’t
get enough of this joke
_______

there is a difference we agree
between the words elder
and elderly
_______

on the other side of the couch
in a room spilled with sun
she tells me about the pain
how there is a dull base layer
and then there are sharp shooting sensations
on top of that which appear and disappear
randomly
and then there are the fevers
that fade in and out but
never break
(this is one glimpse
of lyme’s)
_______

transformation – but not just transformation
but something about what is revealed
as the masks fall away
in the midst of the shifting i say to meadoe
about the death card
_______

shis reviews the catalog
of frank’s birthdays
and how this is a sweet reminder
of how good it feels
to be witnessed
(there was the sing along party
where i dressed in those silver heels
and that kids shiny party dress
and we sang david bowie and queen
and laurie anderson and q lazzarus and aliah.

there was the hike to the top of a mountain
and jess was in charge of transport and hike-choosing
tbird was the magical pie maker
shiz led us in a ritual in the forest-side
and perhaps another human i’m forgetting

there was the jaunt to the coast
in max’s van
and we all carried snacks in our backpacks and
set up an altar on the chilly gray beach

there was gaudalupe mountain last year
with my whirlygigs
in which leon burnt kate’s sage
that i have been carrying for years
and shared the prayer that is for family
and played the flute
and regina and i just made ridiculous jokes
the whole time and
the views broke our hearts and
sheryl and i shared about
our people and our places and
violeta said she couldn’t
even though she powered through with her walking sticks
and revealed just how much she actually could
and manuel was also cracking some jokes
and busy not doing the workhe needed to not do at the time

then there was the
gliteratti dance party
of epic proportions
featuring dj shiz
and dj kid size
and certainly there were probably technical difficulties
but there were also the moments when
almost the whole dance floor
was down on their knees
for that erasure song and then
clapping in unison
to the like-a-prayer breakdown

and then there was the
celebration of light
in the coming dark
where i asked folks to dress up and bring
things to the altar
that had to do with light

and then there was the smashing geodes
along the breitenbush river
where we soaked our way
into my new year
in the geothermal tubs
and i lit the candle
whose heat powered the
put-putting across the
water’s surface
of the tiny metal boat
that corinne gifted me
and then there was the road trip
with jackie and paula and shiz
to vancouver bc
where we sat around a low table
and feasted on home-cooked ethiopian food
and home made lavender cookies
and everyone shared their stories
of meeting/coming to know me
jackie called me anchor

(the culinary artistry
undid me and then
the card catalog gift of
adorations filed away
in different forms
undid me again)

and there was the sorta self concsious
blanket fort tea party with
popcorn cake in the cow barn
and even though there was that
sorta self consciousness
the popcorn cake
with mini m&m’s
and way too much sugar
brought us/brought it all together)

and the whole thing is
if shiz hadn’t reminded me
i might have just thought
well – i’ve had some good birthdays
when in fact
each year
i’ve crafted
some dazzling magic
and the best part about it all
is that the magic was/is contagious
_______

two small bowls of popcorn
(kettle corn and the usual)
in the center of the table
while the six of us
pass the line-picture-line pages
around to each other
line by line
picture by picture
counterclockwise

Leave a comment

Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing