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Archive for September, 2019

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.

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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!

 

 

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Outside the Public Library

 

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.

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