Thursday, February 27, 2014

Lewisia rediviva

they are small and leafless
growing in gravelly, dry soil
that is pounded through the winter with harsh snows
and scorched in the summer with intense sunlight

they are bright with color
sustaining people here with bitter vittles
as communities collect them for feasts
and taste them during times of famine

they lie dormant in my planters
exposed to what the world will bring
and me, investing in the ways of this landscape
nearby these seeds, hoping in spring

thoughtful spot

it is easy

to feel weightless

in a sea of glacial melt warmed by the sun

rolling with the wind funneled by moraines

it is peace

to let go

of the weights which keep us from deeply breathing 

as waves lap perfect stones, clanking against each other.

i come this way often

because sometimes

I am more water than roots

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

blame it on the bluegrass

Like a firefly night
saturated with dew
a slight chill, a warm fire

I am drawn to you.

Faint resonance of strings
vibrating a wooded space
a pluck, a twang

a landscape singing grace.

Like a sleepy child
wandering towards repose
the day yawns

and I yearn to curl up with you.

Sunday, February 9, 2014


It's quiet.
The christmas lights are as bright as a match, in a very dark camp.
The Hellgate winds move cold, snow, our antlers sway in it.

Remarkable to have shelter at a moment like this.

Today, while working, I bundled up to explore, photograph, try to understand in a way which research will never reveal. To feel. Layers and layer and layers. Sun but still wicked cold - safe only by hiding bare skin from the wind. I wandered.

After footsteps, heartbeats, in wonder I made my way back to the entry point. Knee high snow, and a few yards away from the haven of my car. On the other side of the panels.... a man... smoking.

He asked me for a dollar, for the bus. I wasn't bluffing when I told him I had no money. I scanned the scene. External frame backpack, heeled boots like a fire worker, the back cuff worn from the bottom of his carhartt type pants. He sat on the bench, blocking the panel, and stuttered though not knowing where he was, where the bus was, where downtown was, and getting kicked out of the gas station.

ALL I could think was Sir - you need shelter.

I suggested warm buildings, places I thought someone would, could offer him something. he said Nah, no thanks. I guess I'll just stay right here.

Drunk I thought. Something. I encouraged him to get inside and wished him luck. Then something funny happened - he wished me luck too.

I got in my car and left, happy to have parked with an escape route. But worried about him.

A crossroads, a canyon, steeped in stories.

Last week - I was in the Emergency Room. A few days later I was dog sitting for my best friend. The next afternoon, her mother died. Phone calls. Logistics. My first casserole.

But somewhere in between I slid the glass door open, with three dogs watching, closed it behind me, and walked to the fence between the river and I. Frozen.

Wind. Cold. Quiet. Deep sadness. Deep thankfulness.

Saturated in the moment, I breathed, returned indoors.

It's still out there, all around, as we nestle in our homes. There is just enough light. Just enough warmth. Just enough food. Just enough love to continue propelling us though the night, into the next day.

Each of us needs these reminders - the yin to a yang.

Boreas. I know that wind. It brings a peace, a soothing about knowing, being, and doing what I need. You know where you need to be his voice echoes, you're getting there. You will get there.

As I lay me down to sleep, my heart is in my neighbor's apartment. With a best friend. Sorting and sifting though Life.

My wish is for a weary, lost, traveler to find solace and rest.

My hope is that tomorrow, we all understand, just enough, to bring light to that day and continue us all forward in our journeys.

But then again, a little luck sure couldn't hurt.

Friday, February 7, 2014