notes to myself:

(pink notes):

 

Think,

execute,

respond,

review.

 

You, the fruit

the airborne

Prunus spinosa

 

a winged thing

without wings

believe in

regeneration.

 

It starts like this -

you,

a fish

out of water

alter

your

fins,

begin

to grow 

legs,

to walk,

or take root,

and so

become

the  loaves

and fields

that feed 

what you need.

 

I too am

on fire 

in California.

Best to remember

as I do, 

that we all fall

through time,

and change -

you, me, 

sea fish, tree.

 

Nothing lasts,

not even ash.

Think link.

It's 

this I see

that's

eternity.

 

 

__________________

It's now or never,

sever links

from....

(finish this sentence)

 

__________________

 

(blue notes)

 

a celestial

terrestrial -

thrush

warbler

creeper

 

(blew)

 

Blown

off course!

I've always known

you'd hurt them,

me, again.

See?

I've given 

too much time

to your (wind) 風 Kaze.

_________________________

(wind) άνεμος  ánemos

Who stole your brave heart?

Aren't you longing

for your pain to end?

Hah.

You'll be the last to know,

though you've

been

again and again

mindworked,

psyche culled.

It's

still all 

inside

as it ever is,

always was.

I stay afloat

by pushing my boat

into deeper seas,

when

terror

returns,

churns sand,

reveals

old stones.

Flaked chert 

hurts,

but somehow not as much 

in open water.

___________________________

Me too.

I'm through with weaponized empathy.

 ___________________________

 

The snow collector,

whorled milkweed,

requires clay

to flourish,

flowers summerlong.

 

Asclepias verticillata -

does no harm,

whispers to snakes,

makes me

monarch strong.

Milkweed,

are you ready

for our long voyage 

to the end?

_______________________________

 

 

Rouffignac wooly rhinoceros

 

3 red grasshoppers

 

Husband warms his wife's feet

 

Elizabeth Arnold 70 year old female blacksmith

ludens

Plant identity - Homo sapiens L.

 

 red-breasted nuthatch -

a plum's shadow

on white building

 Early

morning

in the

garden -

a

brown

house 

wren

under

the

white

mulberry

I hear

no machinery 

scream,

ring,

whistle

whine,

just

a steady stream

(well, almost)

of traffic,

today,

Sunday,

at 9.

Two rabbits

a fat squirrel

are

grazing

in the garden.

The rabbit next

to the white fence

half hidden

feints a freeze 

but kicks instead

at the squirrels head

who surprised

skedaddles 

up the mulberry tree.

Two rabbits now.

The doe, 

though smaller,

emboldened,

comes away from

the fence

into new grass

the best grass I guess.

She eating

pauses

for a long minute

stares down the buck

one almond eye at a time.

 

 

fall morning, September 20th

 I thought last night's light

(that feather moon!)

was too much for me,

but this morning

blindsided by clarity

the arrival of autumn air

and autumn

light

doubles the wonder.

The window screen disappears into silver, 

the window glass into gold.

I've been told

every day looks

new to you, earth, air, tree,

now I understand

now I also see.

We discovered

a grey mouse 

under mulch.

Her silver fur

shook

the shredded

wood.

She would, 

and could, 

and did,

ignore

us,

continue,

and

calmly

cover 

herself 

again.

 

 

Tonight,

the moon's

a

lure.

You,

me,

tree,

we're

under

it,

deeper

down.

 

 

        d a r k e r                                  

        d a y s                                       

         a h e a d                                   

                                                         

                                                         

                                                         

                                                         

                                                         

                                                         

she

she died

trying.

stay.

watch

this system,

never perfect,

never blind,

unwind.

Ginsburg’s final statement, dictated to her granddaughter Clara Spera from her deathbed, was simply: “My most fervent wish is that I will not be replaced until a new president is installed.”

lichen and moss

 Lichen is symbiotic

algae and fungi

not a plant.

These I see 

feed on bark,

favor sun,

need clean air.

They alert

me and tree

to

danger, disease -

crown drop, black spot,

borer, weevil, moth.

 

Tree lichen lift living grey into green.

I have seen them cover ash and elm,

the helmsmen 

signaling storm.

 

dream, with back pain

A dull ache

kept me awake.

I burrowed into myself.

When sleep came,

the pain

remained,

followed me into a dream.

Seems

I was a tree

half in and half out of

water earth air

there on my bark

lichen,

moss.

 

 

morning walk, lynden

 you knew

dew would be there

a blue jay

cries

like 

a

hawk

 

talk

of

a

bronze

horse

looks

like

wood

(should

feel

warm)

 

leaf

forms 

saw

pawpaw

sugar maple

 

eight 

of 

us

36

birds

heard

more

of 

them

stems

from

less

of

us

 

 

 wet

ground

red 

worms

sounds

of

warbler

thrush

in 

the

brush

 

 

anniversary

 19

years 

 

tears

for

each

one

contrast

 It's raining, and cool.
After  breakfast,
I'll clean the cellar.

In the hills near my sisters in East San Diego,
the Valley Fire rages, 11% contained.
Their cars are packed, warned that evacuation is
uncertain,
and could happen quickly.

If this weather contrast were animals,
my northern cold
could be a Costa Rican three-toed sloth,
its slow metabolism creeping
like coolness through the body.

Fire's a bee, seizing the urgency of its
energy as fuel, and forcing itself
to feed,
to spread seed,
make make more of itself.
 

my food routines

During a pandemic it's important
to eat wisely.
I search for
nutritious foods,
in portions
suited to
my temperament and preference for
interstices.
I eat no meat.
I'm called to have small
meals, throughout my
waking hours.
I began this habit in Japan
and continue now in Wisconsin.
Mornings, it's
coffee, twice and black,
with oatmeal or a slurry made
of nut milk and fruit.
Then at ten I have a snack,
a banana or
dried figs,
followed by lunch.
In Japan, I ate buckwheat soba,
plain, in its cooking water,
with a piece of cheese and tofu.
I would treat myself to an egg salad sandwich,
though it wore thin
if indulged in
more than once a month.
Dinner was soba or tofu, vegetables, daifuku or melon.
In the States I eat more eggs
and have developed a fondness for lentil fusilli, arugula, and watermelon.
Fruit is cheap here - I feel rich and spoiled.
I drink more green tea for memory.
The matcha taste
makes me long for mountains and the trains that go there.
The last 2 weeks, I've eaten a non GMO ear of corn,
raw and salted after shucking,
an evening second supper.
At night, spiced tea ,
with a slice of vegetable cheese
that tastes more like straw than Swiss.
This, then, is my food routine,
carried between two countries.

I've heard food is a portrait of the soul.
I wonder what this split existence reveals?

Today in the plum tree
common yellow throat,
pine warbler

And what of the
ancestors?
These,
the coke workers
boilermakers
tobacco strippers
apple pickers
pit miners
steel workers
corn sorting
rice growing
crop sowing
field gleaning
men,
women,
and children.
If these lives
covered pages
onion skin thin
we'd begin

to see
how their work
over the ages
built books as well as
empires.

thrushes
goldfinch songs
along with
pit ponies

brown thrasher

is a bird
also called red mavis
symbolising
stability
balance
harmony
inclusivity.

I'm having trouble recalling a
dream. 

Instead
I've read
it took 50 bullets to kill a man,
saw a monastary ruined in Syria,
heard about a daughter 's endless sinking
into madness.
I look outside.
There will be
30 million migrating birds
under a gibbous moon tonight.
The lake is so high
you cannot swim at Oostburg,
because of slippery stones.
The bones of a robin and a rabbit
have disappeared into my garden's soil, where
yesterday, an old mulberry stump fell out of the
ground, rotted through.

 

You cannot calculate the depth of death,
or the will to it, of it,
the power it inspires in some hearts.

Oh yes.
My dream.
I saw a roll of plastic tape
unwinding in the wind:
"Caution, Caution". it said.

female red-breasted nuthatch

Impatiens capensis (Touch me not) - jewelweed

saw
not tooth and claw
but
small