Small bits

The second round of the ice storm arrived at noon. Looking out the window the physical aspect of the storm can be seen in how it bounces bird seed across the ground and makes the birds flee to the safety of the pine and a spruce over by my neighbor’s house. A shelter of sorts. Last night as I moved the feeders in, close to thirty cardinals were out near the deck and the lilacs. The lilacs are good cover from hawks, but the ice pellets were small bits of shrapnel. Overnight these bits of ice formed a solid sheet on the road and sidewalk and the only safe passage this morning when placing the feeders back out was via the lawn; even then best to stay where no path has been forged. Right after lunch, the snow came. Just a light dusting to cover the ice. While watching the blackbirds at the feeders I noted a woodpecker that dropped in and hung on awkwardly grabbing a sunflower and then speeding away. I think this was also the one that joined the blue jays this morning gathering peanuts in front of the house.

The rest of the day was spent thinking about Europe, about Ukraine, about peace. Paging through poems. Watching the birds. Watching the weather. Thinking about Ukraine. It’s raining in Kyiv, Ukraine right now. Soon it will be dawn and the day will be fairly warm for February, there may be sun.

Two weak hand poems:

Overnight the sky came to earth as crystal,
perfect cold gems of water
transformed. The way I wish at times
to change, to move through the world
in all forms, assembling and
disassembling as needed.

~~

In the clear dream
I saw sky and light
across a desert night
that place where stars
like curious observers
watch the earth
and wonder how
all those animals
can forget what
they’re made of

Memphis

Jerry and I went to Memphis for the weekend. We like to see cities and walk inside them; try for a moment to see what they are about. Memphis of course is full of a lot of contradictions and worries, glory, and shame. The weather was sunny and warm, the drive was easy. We did more walking and looking at the downtown area, than anything else. We had no desire to see Graceland or be down on Beale Street at night for any music. I was interested in seeing the markers about Ida B. Wells as she interests me, quite a lot. And the other assorted markers are curious, in fascinating and sad ways. We did not need to go to the Lorraine Motel, we know what happened there; no need to stand on the street and cry.

While walking past the federal building downtown, I made the offhand comment about the name, Odell Horton, “do you think that’s the name of a confederate soldier or the third imperial wizard of the klan?” After we got back to the room that evening, I looked it up and the good news is that Odell Horton’s name was added to the building in 2007, prior to that it was the Clifford Davis Federal Building. Davis was “…a vocal proponent of segregation with ties to the Ku Klux Klan. *”. And in December 2021 (DECEMBER 2021!) the name of Davis was taken off the building. (It had been the Clifford Davis/Odell Horton Federal Building) 🙄

Odell Horton “had a decades-long legal career before presiding over federal court in West Tennessee. He was the first Black assistant U.S. attorney and federal judge in West Tennessee post-Reconstruction. *” (*Micaela Watts, Memphis Commercial Appeal)

The Mississippi was very muddy, carrying a lot of debris. At the Metal Museum there were daffodils in the garden. We sat watching a barge turn, a few blue jays picking through the dead leaves, and listening to the traffic cross the bridge to Arkansas or return to Tennessee. The museum is small and lovely. The current exhibition is delicate and surprising. Work by Kim Cridler, I will share a few pictures, the one with the eggshells is actual eggshells. The patience and care to weld each section with such fragile accents! And I adore exhibits that include the artist’s notebooks.

Well, a good weekend, a birthday weekend for me and to top it all off, Jerry got me new cat pajamas and a tiara. What a guy.

My distraction

My distraction is blackbirds letting the wind hold them in flight, just a quiver of movement at the edge of the field, a whole flock suspended over the cattail-lined ditch. My distraction is the swirling leaves holding a dervish moment right in front of me. My distraction is the five gray squirrels at the pine, ground level a solid ribbon of motion up and down, chasing around, around, around; I dizzy just watching. My distraction is the clouds picking up their petticoats and racing toward the horizon, long rainlegs hurdling sweet gum and maple. Today I passed under the lilac and saw the faint trail that leads from their bare arms down toward the little draw where foxes and deer traverse. My distraction was I didn’t follow.

Today's weak hand writing exercise:

What is this need to witness the day’s first
light listening for whatever bird is near. What
is it about wind through a pine that makes me sixteen
again, alone beside a dark blue lake when the breeze
started a chorus of song throughout the thousand trees
and I thought yes, this is what I want.

Solo venture

Today I went for a morning ramble, more to see what snow is left along the way, making a note of what routes I need to avoid. Luckily most of the walks are clear and where it wasn’t on one side, the road the other side was clean. I took a chapbook and an anthology of poetry to leave in a Little Free Library over on West Deer Creek Road. I like this particular library because they put up puzzles and quotes and have a lovely bench in case you need to rest as you browse. Mission accomplished I continued on my walk.

This was as solo venture today as Jerry had to go into work, something we joke about whenever he tells me. “How dare they expect you to put on real* clothes (*grown person clothes) and drive to your office!” I’ll say. And he’ll say, “Pants are overrated!” We are expecting that they will return to the office in some capacity soon. Now where did I put his lunch bag?

After returning from my walk, I set about installing our new mailbox. I’m not sure whether the old box was hit by the snowplow or the cold and ice cracked it, but it’s a goner. While I was busy with this task crows kept flying over. I’d stop and yell, “Hey, you crows! Hey!” But they just flew over. “Cah, cah!” they’d snap (Translation: shut up humanoid!) And all of the robins busy searching the lawn gave me that, oh have some dignity look.

Well, we have a mailbox; I do need to put the numbers on it. It was a beautiful day, and I took photos along the ramble and here is a little poem I wrote this morning.

The catkins are teasing the tree’s
bare fingers, gray glove-tips in the cold sun.

I reach up to caress as I would a kittens’ ear
a cautious rub and then I linger.

Does the tree love this as a cat would
or is there a shudder at the press of my skin

upon these downy points. It’s a wonder
I can hold this awakening; shouldn’t the tree

move toward my touch, curl around my legs and trill.

Rejoicing and happiness

Piles of snow are growing darker and smaller, and the melt is running across roads and walks. Upwards there are skeins of geese (and geese-like flyers) crossing the sky. I haven’t put my feeders out for a few days, there is so much seed on the deck and ground I’m asking the birds to do some gleaning. The blue jays are very loud in their displeasure, but they will get over it. The starlings and blackbirds have been remarkably busy all around the yard, they’re good cleaners. I noted the cardinals going above and beyond and moving leaves while searching. Tomorrow morning I’ll put everything back out, new suet blocks, fresh seed, peanuts. There will be rejoicing and happiness. I wonder how the birds will feel.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday, I don’t think I’ve watched an entire Super Bowl game in years (decades?) but I like to pop in on games, typically cheer for the team I like a little bit better. Real fan stuff. But this year I’m interested because the Cincinnati Bengals are playing, and I have been a fan since Kenny Anderson was the quarterback. It’s funny, just looking at his stats I see that he is from Batavia, Illinois; we looked at a house there before moving this way; it may have influenced me had I known. Probably not, no, not really. Our dinner tonight will be our Super Bowl finger foods, for Jerry one single deviled duck egg and then cauliflower wings and stuffed mushrooms.

And tomorrow will be our 35th Valentine's Day. That seems significant. I’ll make a special meal. Or maybe I won’t cook, I’ll get a to-go item somewhere as it seems I have another week starting with errands. Or maybe I’ll make a spicy bean and tofu soup. The possibilities are endless. As with most of our days we have large tracts of open space, many hours. We come together, we do our schtick, we go to our separate areas of the house, we do our thing, we come back together. Don’t tell him but I just noticed that the little box of chocolates I got for him has an orange crème and a strawberry crème: why? Just a waste.

Here's a weak hand poem from this morning:

In the half-sleep I imagine sunfill, either sheep meadow
or dappled Mediterranean. I want the sleep lulled
by waves patting an orange boat or the bah-bahing
of lambs, the grass tearing of ruminants moving past.

In each, the sky is less than blue, the sun
the perfect temperature for lazy doze. In each
I relax until dreams or fancy overtake me. In
each I find the absurdity that they don’t exist together.

Looking up

There are doves in the pine tree,

their voices the low notes of the cello
their bodies
pressed wing to wing
      make me glance away.

I have a lot of pictures of the trees in my neighbor hood, specifically the trees behind my neighbor's house and the sky that the trees touch. When I lived in Klamath Falls there was a pine tree that was often recorded in picture and poem. So here is the equivalent 10,000 words about trees and sky and light.

Just a brief exchange

I spent a good deal of time today watching the outside world change, most notably the birds dealing with the weather which has shifted in the past twenty-four hours from a balmy 56° to the current (with windchill) 8°; the freezing rain started this morning and that’s what has created the bird circus. To the west and north of us is snow, we’re in an ugly no man’s land with just frozen grass and granules of ice. The trees have a thin coating of ice as well. This has caused the starlings to gather around all the bird feeders here and at my neighbor’s house.

Passing by the front door at one point today I glanced out to see if snow was falling and three starlings stumbled out from behind a hedge at the corner of the house like the last bar patrons heading home. They sort of jostled one another, and then looked about, “Now, where did I park?” A Dark-eyed junco eating nearby made wide birth as they wandered about.

Yesterday when we were out for our walk before it started raining, we passed one of the many ponds in the neighborhood and there were geese walking on the frozen surface, the day was warm, but we have had a number of very cold days prior, so all the little water bodies have some ice. This particular pond is one of the larger in town. In the summer this is the gosling zone, and if you walk down this street be prepared to cross because the parents are protective and aggressive (better to find a new route for those weeks). But yesterday, it was Geese on Ice! They knew   they looked great.

My friend gave me some insight into some writing routines she’s using, starting the day writing with your weak hand, for me my left, just to jumpstart your brain, (Jerry said, “You can do that!?”) and the famous dipping into a book and writing a poem from whatever line landed on. The line I used on January 30th was from the novel Warlight by Michael Ondaajte:

            “like spokes fingering north from the Thames.”

            The river’s hand touching every rock, every root
            and fallen branch, caressing the quick fish
            and swaddling the geese landing onto the soft
            sheen of its skin. The river its life of change
            never moving the same way, just a brief
            exchange like the quick chat with the young
            woman on the street that day before our fingers
            brushed as I passed her a few bills.