March 09, 2021. For several years, our yard has been graced by a delightful pink flamingo patiently staying wherever last placed, yet seldom immobile – true to her design, she swirled left, right with even minute breeze and somehow that triggered the bobbing of head which always seemed to me a nod of acceptance. I took that as a model. And thus in February this poem wrote itself in my head while I stood transfixed by the rhythmic-yet-unpredictable sways.
I’m posting today to honor the flamingo, who sadly had a different sort of appeal to our new dog Ramble, still puppy-enough to want to chew just about anything. Ramble is forgiven. Flamingo is missed. I’ve collaged seasonal views of the flamingo – last spring amid the pond irises and a couple of weeks ago in the snow.
October 20, 2017. An invitation we initiated in March has brought exactly what we hoped for – migrating Monarchs arrived this afternoon, four days after first blooms opened on the new blue mist bush. We brought this home from Rancho Lomitas after watching Rio Grande butterflies congregating, making clear their preferred party food. (Please don’t ask me the technical name. But do check out: http://www.rancholomitas.com/)
I stood in the midst of the flurry feeling invisible, a wallflower hanging around the buffet at an elite social event. But no complaints!
December 21, 2016. Solstice dawned clear and sunny, a welcome followup to our first freeze a couple nights ag0, repeated, repeated – now history except for the abundance of plants turning into mush piles. The Brugmansia was trying to bloom another round. For a week prior to the freeze I gave it daily encouragement (with a hint of hurry up!) This morning I stood transfixed by rising sunlight beaming through the still-green wilted leaves and the still-yellow tubular buds – a different sort of beauty, a different sort of strength holding my attention – model for stepping into a radical change of seasons. Many dire circumstances could derail its Spring emergence, but Brugmansia isn’t burdened with worst-case scenarios. (Oh, for such clarity of being.)
August 30, 2016. Again today, the crinum patch alongside my driveway is moist with rain. Getting into the car means getting a bit damp. And today I found myself “getting into” moments from a few days back – in the same predicament when distracted by a green anole. I am growing increasingly fond of my new iPhone6+ camera – present and already on when a shy critter grants me a pause. Dewitt Jones says the best camera for any shot is the one you have with you. Indeed!
August 26, 2016. One more post stemming from recent camping in the Lincoln National Forest above Cloudcroft NM – as I continue to process the many photos, I relive memorable moments – some flowing into poems.
This magnificent hawk settled into his surveying roost on our first evening, when we were the only campers. We hoped he would return as this seemed likely one of his regular hunting grounds. But next day additional campers arrived, then more and more as the Gathering of Circles crowd rolled in from all over. No surprise the hawk chose to hunt elsewhere for awhile. Likely the many little underground burrowers needed a few days’ reprieve. Our hour of binocular hawk watching was a gift, one of a kind. The image below is from the camera of Gary Kendrick – he has the lens that can span a meadow!
August 17, 2015. I am home again from travels that took me away from the daily humming norm of to-dos. Time at 9000 feet elevation (think cool) dry-camping (think frugal water use) surely shifts one’s focus. Up above Cloudcroft NM there is no hurry. Time to sit, reflect … write a couple of poems!
I’m including two poems in this post – both written in the presence of the pictured remains of a pine. The term for a fractured tree of this sort is “snag”. This one certainly snagged my attention. I found it while wandering on day two, and it became my little sanctuary for daily journal sitting.