April 14, 2019. Recently I had the opportunity to sit in silence by a campfire, letting the dancing flames erase just about every thought … then present a face smiling at me from a burning log. Not a laughing grin … a serene smile. Apart from the added circle, this image is what my phone captured. The next morning I stared again at the face, recalling how it had indeed smiled all the way to sudden collapse. The haiku here is the result of multiple revisits to figure out just what message to take from that smile.
Maybe you will see a different message.
March 28, 2019. Spring has announced herself with an abundance of green coming up through dried leftovers of prior green frozen to the ground. Lots to clean up in the yard! I tackled the crinum bed alongside driveway a bit at a time to avoid arthritic reaction to the necessary bending, stooping at unusual angles. This poem emerged from the meditative nature of putting face repeatedly near earth … plus it was Mother’s birthday. The following day, my email brought me the poem Earth Song – including:
Those who are dead are never gone;
The dead are not down in the earth:
They are in the trembling of the trees
Indeed, Mother was right there with me in the crinums’ upward thrust.
Crinums produce large lily-like blooms – mine are a vivid pink, prolific come June.
I’m unable to find a direct link to Earth Song, Traditional from Senegal. I received it via Panhala – to subscribe, send a blank email to:
March 13, 2019. Another rainy morning, not quite so cold as the December morning I wrote this poem. But the same mood prevails upon me, upon the Labrador. We both seem inclined to sit peacefully and just observe.
Thank you, Ken Gierke, for pointing me to GIMP for photo manipulation. I like its “waterpixels” effect, appropriate for the scene, the mood.
February 19, 2019. Right about now as I’m posting this, the Super Moon is extremely close to full. It’s daylight and raining, so no right-now photos! Last night She was close enough to full to have a pull on my senses, and to fill my camera. There was a high thin cloud cover moving in, producing a haze which seemed to enhance the overall glow. Intoxicating to stand in the chill, neck twisted at various angles, seeking the best shot through bare tree limbs. The image here is a collage of the best moon uncluttered and the best branches-over-moon.
There have been a number of love poems floating around lately, Valentines of one sort or another. I think this is one of those anothers.
January 18, 2019. Winter weather changes certain habits – like wandering about in the yard looking at the day’s blooms and potential blooms while Labrador Buttercup tends to her morning business. A heater on the enclosed back porch (our seasonal greenhouse) tempts and I navigate toward the rocking chair near by, leaving the porch door cracked for dog’s return.
Often porch time becomes reflective, more so these past few days as I’ve begun reading Alan Watts.
January 13, 2019. Reflecting on my recent routine visit to the Ear-Nose-Throat doc – a remarkably pleasant space for waiting your turn – light coming through windows along the outer wall of the receptionist area – then passing through a cheerfully frosted panel into the make-yourself-comfortable area. Usually, one or two others share the wait. But this last visit got crowded.
December 26, 2018. ‘Tis that time of year for tending to things put off … I don’t make New Year Resolutions, but I do focus on major to-dos, getting some of them off the list, off my conscience before the year ends. Like cutting back the yaupon holly – arched trunk extending over the sidewalk, into the street. Of course I took photos before we began cutting. The chore is done, off the list, but my conscience is unsettled. If only I could’ve moved the street instead …