Dry, pumpkin colored fall: the season to gather apples and grapes. Geese congregate before their flight south. Squirrels store food for winter. The whimsy of Halloween collides with bittersweet autumn. I lean into the tenderness of its melancholy contradictions. If we celebrate the harvest, then we must also accept the reckoning. Autumn cushions the fall … More The Last Bouquet
“In every heart there is a god of flowers, just waiting to stride out of a cloud and lift its wings.” Mary Oliver from The Kookaburras In late August of this year, of the summer when my wildflower garden flourished and yielded a wealth of colorful bouquets, crickets sang each evening their mindful refrain. “Soon,” … More Still Lifes
Hallelujah The primary colors of tulips brighten my yard. Grass sprouts between the bricks of the path. Manic behavior infects the bird life. They chatter about coupling and food, warmth and territory. Rivals join the juncos and towhees at the feeder. Finches and song sparrows visit. The numbers increase, but … More Hallelujah
Why Things Happen For J. D. Riso I listened to the rain fall for hours And read a mystery next to my cat, Both of us dismayed by the dark, wet sky. I listened and read and accrued the clues Of how and who as to why things happen. I heard rainwater scampering … More Why Things Happen
“Just remain in the center; watching. And then forget that you are there.” Lao Tzu In early November, wet weather arrived to cleanse the Hood River Valley. Seasonal debris in our yard glistened with rain. Oval blades of lilac nested with the serrated ellipses of cherry. The lobed margins of oak leaves tucked themselves into … More Wet Weather
“I prefer the absurdity of writing poems to the absurdity of not writing poems.” From Possibilities by Wislawa Szymborska My Beautiful Life I walked alone this afternoon. October’s velvet light slipped through The shade of a Big Leaf Maple And tattooed my arms with shadow. Erratic winds stirred the branches And … More My Beautiful Life
The Way We Wish It Was We wish for that we cannot have: Seasons without winter’s torment, Children who stay forever young, Their skin supple and their hands small, Grasping at the longings we share. We wish to dim fluorescent light, A wink to shush its cruel scold That bullies our weary aged flesh, … More The Way We Wish It Was
The Towhee Needles of sleet fell all throughout the night And the towhee pecks at the hardened crust, Seeking the moist carpet of leaves below. But it is too deep. Only the memory Of his … More The Towhee
Good Blood, Bad Blood 