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We’ve just had a harvest moon,
and suddenly
winter is blossoming
full force
in the Gravely range.
Last night
the waning moon
shone so brightIMG_0629
on the recent snowfall
I saw the shadow
of a weasel chasing
a mountain hare
like a black
and white
cartoon
flashback
from my childhood.

The snow started
mid afternoon
with full gusts
blowing
it onto the wide
valley of prairie grass
and dusting
the peaks
across Reynold’s Pass
until the dusk
when everything
became engulfed
in a ghost like white
purity
as if the pale
moon itself
had melted.UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_2e10
Standing late
on the wet snow
I knew
this is what death
must be like:
taking a breath
melding
into
sheer light
sound
muted
time
standing
still.
It felt
blissful.
One can only hope…..

l

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In the moment….

 

Walking
late afternoon
fading light
leaves
auburn
gold
plum
fire
sing
summoning
winter airRuby-crowned Kinglet s52-13-393_V.jpg
wind
at my brow
hair
free
wild
tussled
drinking
colors
deep
into my throat
so in the
darkest
winter
on
a silent
damp
night
I warble:
ruby throated
kinglet
solemn
a top
one last
green leaf,
my red crest
crowning
toward
winter sky.

Today in a moment of total
abandon and inner stillness
I felt the full spectrum
of how prosperous
I am.
Not as in billionaire
listed in Forbes
BMW driving condo
owning
trust fund entitled
age denying
limelight chasing
asshole
or enlightened
ageless
sadhu
dreads down to the ground
patient begging
saffron robed monk
third eye activated yogi
mountain hermit
blind
to the evil
Narcissistic modern world
who sits alone
in nature
nestled
in moss
free from this Maya
we call life.

Rich
beyond the ticking
clock
I stare at
the green canopy
of the walnut tree’s
healthy leaves
where
a solitary cedar waxwing
perches
eyeing the feederCedar-Waxwing-Pictures
busy with
goldfinches
chickadees
juncos
nuthatches
swarming
with titmice
as they converge
like winged
locust.
He waits patiently
bright yellow bar
on his tail
flicking
in masked annoyance.
He has found
the mother load
fresh
hulled
sunflower seed
for the taking
and
his patience pays.

My heart fills
with abandon
of joy
at this autumnal
scene
etched
by rays of darting
sun beams
like waves
cresting
leaves.
This my view
my corner
of nature
in the heart
of a city
waiting
for cleansing rain
to clear
solitude
desperation
of
sleepwalkers
thinking
themselves
full
as empty
they truly are:
bliss comes
from the inside
you can’t buy it:
they wake
too late
down
under
one last gasp
of regret…..

Rich beyond measure
the cedar waxwing
and I
here
in this perfect
present
moment,
both
alert
open eyed
and blessed:
he for the seed
 me for the sight
and time
to etch it                                                                                                                                                  into my heart.

Chickadees

In the elegant
world of birds,
chickadees
are the clowns.
Their stubby
black
capped
heads
bob
in unison
to chickadee-1980888__340.jpg
a song
mechanical
in tone
repetitive
short
flat,
flying
in quick
quirky
spurts
blinking
as
they
dart
from branch
to feeder
here
and
gone
in an instant.

I smile
loving
their
silly
dance
on this
blushing sunset
day.

As autumn begins
thunder
distant
rare
in this city
where
skies
open
un -announced
drenching
pedestrians
who refuseUNADJUSTEDNONRAW_mini_2d22.jpg
to use umbrellas
wearing
a badge
of hipness.
From the highest
window
I stare at clouds
climbing
darkly
one
upon
another
over the southwest hills
where
roads
become muddy
mini Amazons
if only for an instant,
commuters
disgruntled
grimacing
as NPR
reminds
them
of the sullen
world
they inhabit.

In the rain gutters
across the way
starlings
bathe
in utter abandon
like skinny dippers
after a long hike
in a hidden lake
high in the Cascades.
My mind wanders
today
to all the far off
wet places
I’ve loved:
Kyoto
leaves drifting
in the rivulets
near musty
incense scented
temples
monks
ceremoniously
ignoring heavy
drops
as
saffron robes
drip heavy,
Monsoon in Tamil Nadu
heavy summer
day
pressing
humid
stifling
wet hands
against my breast
as if to choke
all senseless
thoughts
purifying
me
at Kanyakumari
where
three oceans meet.
Here non hipsters
pray
cry
chant
at the sacred
‘ water’s edge.
In Tabio
Andean refuge
my sweet
tender
heart place
where
eucalyptus
drip
cold
drops
which cows
tongue
in morning mist
their bells
ringing
faintly
muffled
by
rushing
water
over
rock laden
mountain paths
I travel:
a long lost
child.
Somewhere
in a meadow
high above
the Madison river
the dog and I
take refuge
under
aspen
to wait
out a summer
downpour
hail
bouncing
off boulders
as pikas
whistle
wild
with delight
to get
summer stink off.
As
fast
as it comes,
it ends
dog shaking
out his tangled
fur
now laying
in mountain sun,
as I wait
for the
never disappointing
rainbow.

From a nearby house
comes
the lonely howl
of a dog
left too long alone:
“kulning”
the rain
home
to his den
where he might
find
the scent of freedom.

“kulning” are herding songs from Scandinavia – eerily beautiful and hypnotic
Pico Iyer is an amazing writer – new discovery for me!

 

 

 

From wonder
of a child’s eyes
to gratitude
of simply seeing
we make
full circle
our journey:
spring blossoms
to fall leaves.
His small
hand
snug
safe
in mine,
we turn the corner
tiptoeimages.jpg
toward
the maple tree,
both of us
gleeful
at the discovery –
on a low branch
a bard owl sleeps
amidst
the city chaos
and gawkers
phones
primed
waiting
for a perfect
shot.
Crows
cackle
above
this
royal sight:
not at all
perturbed
she slumbers
her ample
marbled chest
puffed
fluffed
by the breeze.
We dare say
nothing
but point
smile
tiptoe
backwards
till we
stumble
onto grass:
laughing
with our eyes
grateful
for
this unexpected gift.

August Spiders

The dry heat of August
blooms
spiders:
in corners
window ledges
tree trunks
seen
unseen
crawling
diving
dipping
weaving
dedicated
driven
so industrious
everywhere
celebrating
that
no water
dare
trash
days
of
loving
feverish
creation.
They do it
for love
in the moment
in dark corners
un-noticed
ignored
rarely celebrated,
as do we
poets,
but then
I’ve broken
the spell
giving
these tiny
Picassos
their
weight
in words.