Green Jays Stage

December 6, 2019.  We returned to our haunts near Rio Grande City the week of Thanksgiving.  One very good birding location is Salineno World Birding Center located on the Rio Grande River and thus in danger.  The current expectation is a wide caliche roadway between river and birding, nothing to spoil the birding center so long as the birds aren’t repulsed by construction.  (But there are those insisting we need a continuous WALL …)  If anywhere near Salineno in the November-March months, this place is worth the search.  (The birds go elsewhere to breed summer/fall.)

I’ve been thinning and tweaking photos since we got back, looking for a green jay image that captures their playful energy.  Today, I encountered a poetry form that so fits the experience of watching green jays – birds flapping around noisily, people holding still quietly.  I don’t think I’ve seen a puente poem before, and this is certainly the first one I’ve written.  Thanks go to Ken Gierke @ https://rivrvlogr.com/2019/12/06/finding-direction-puente/ for stirring my creativity.  The puente form puts two perspectives together with a single common thread, and I knew immediately which photos to collage together to show the two “sides” of Salineno: birds on the far side of a large Mesquite growing laterally; birders a few yards away on the entrance side.

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Praying With St. Francis

November 20, 2019.  Seems Brie gets into just about everything, even my meditative moments.  I concede laughing and then snapping a photo of my cat constitutes breaking the trance … but it led to an enlightened attitude on the spot and a poem later that day.  I will post it now as an odd-ball “gratitude poem” for this Thanksgiving … a bit early as I’ll be traveling during the holiday.

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Coffee Puzzle

November 4, 2019.  Recently, walking into my kitchen, my memory took a leap back to the kitchen I grew up in – the center of family activities.  The table was cleared for each meal and then immediately cleared for the next activity – homework, paying bills, making a new slipcover for the old rocker.  In early hours (before anyone else was supposed to be awake), Mother sat at the table drinking coffee and reading magazines.  The memory that won’t let go was a rare day when Mother sat down for coffee mid-day.  I was elementary-school age.

(I’m still puzzling why this memory pops up now.  I lean toward synchronicity, not coincidence.)

The table (now in my sister’s home) was available to photo for this collage with a map of the Monahans area in West Texas as backdrop.  (No recall of Mother’s coffee cups, though I do remember a metal coffeepot heated on stove top – just-poured coffee was surely boiling hot.)

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Monarchs Rule The Yard

October 19, 2019.  Monarchs have begun appearing among our blue mist blooms … any day now we expect a large number to swoop through on their way South.  This is an annual delight, but now comes with a complication named Brie.  She’s spending prime outdoor hours indoors – unless I’m available to go intervene on behalf of the Monarchs.  Monarchs seem quiet swift in rising if a cat appears.  But.  Brie is under restrictions!  I found her huddled on the kitchen counter with bananas, clearly pouting.

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Beckoned

October 3, 2019.   Had a relaxed nap this afternoon in my zero-gravity recliner – recently moved into the living room to increase wiggle space in the den.  When I woke, I was staring at two images blurring together, becoming one big tug on my imagination – a waking dream.  I lay back awhile exploring possibilities, then got up and did the obvious next thing:  I wrote a poem.

The oil painting (perhaps by my grandmother) is of Texas bluebonnets along a country road, near Cuero, Texas.  The cat is one of many feline figures decorating various surfaces in my home.  Positioning cat within the frame was not entirely imagination – my angle looking upward (glasses nowhere near) contributed.  I’ve reconstructed what I “saw” as collage.

Tomorrow I plan a repeat nap, same space.  Who knows what I’ll see?

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Haverhill Solo Hours

September 26, 2019.  Periodically, I get lonesome for times, places past.  One such evening, I dug out this poem about just such evenings … and went to work on a collage to capture the primary elements of mini-trampoline, best-ever rocker, parquet floor.  I added a dream catcher to symbolize the only way I can go back.  Haverhill is an extension of West Palm Beach, Florida – where my first husband and I built the house (1970-1973) – where my kids came to be (1974 and 1977) – where the kids and I continued to live after Dad departed in 1979, up until I brought the kids to my origins in Texas (1986).  If I could’ve figured a way to bring that house along to Texas, I would be rocking in it still!

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