Three random blooms

The forsythia has three random blooms
a yellow flame at the end of the long, bare branch.
When the cardinal lands it's as though
it is playing with fire. If she wants to burn
she should visit the daffodils in the front
bed, full of bonfire trumpets flashing
and proclaiming spring.

The sky this morning was mottled.
Between the lines of white
was a message of bright blue
a note to look up, a song to begin.

The yard is not shy with its colors
and the birds are not shy
with their hymns this Sunday.
It is spring-like here, the day long
and the sky alive with cloud
and these fleeting notes:
grackle, starling, finch,
and disappearing into the indigo,
a Blue Jay raucous and more beautiful
than the sun.

Empire I want

After the snow day

The slow sun rises on a cold day
more gold than summer
though less molten, its hurry
facilitated by the geese
pond bond. Against the clouds
holding storm each goose belly
above me is also gold, less finch
more empire I want to live in

As the day ended, clear, the sun
sizzled orange, through the trees
blackbirds streamed behind
their path nuanced, fine.
Each feather sent its own song
a breeze across a spiderweb,
a breeze on a breeze over leaves
left from daydream.

I stood my heart beating
to match theirs, my arms
awaiting wings.

The sky is shadowed by blackbirds

The wind has moved its family here, Gusty, Blowy, Freezing Breeze, and Hold Your Hat. They’ve come along with Bone Chill and occasional, Drizzle. When the sun does break past their defenses it is more like a kindergartener playing Red Rover with the upper grades it rarely gets through and then the taunting and tears begin. It is the new winter in Illinois – or what I know of winter here. Our one snow lasted a few days but that came before Solstice and surprised even the weather watchers, that snow was about six inches. There has been a dusting, a skiff of snow now and again but our main winter weather has been these cold winds and rain, a miserable combo if you must be out in it.

I’m back in school for the Spring semester. My 8 am class is Art History, Prehistoric to Gothic and the instructor started his first lecture today, he’s good at that – his banter has been painfully awkward and even he admitted, “I’m a shy person but I love this subject.” I think it’s a perfect first class for the beginning of the day. The room is very warm, so I hope the snoring is kept to a minimum for those students that struggle with the “early” hour.

I’ve been driving a new route in the morning, a little more winding through the countryside now. The sky is shadowed by blackbirds and here I pass the farm where murderers gather. Sometimes more than a dozen crows attend meetings above a barn in some old and very tall oak trees that seem to have grown just for these conferences. And the hawks! The hawks are the rulers of the roadside anywhere a perch can be made they are there, watching. Along the drive, I pass the fields that had corn this year and I have often seen turkeys hobnobbing as well. Another plus with this drive is I pass Randy’s Rescue Ranch in the morning. Rutabaga is not out at this time of day, but the horses are waiting patiently for volunteers to feed them. There is a draft mare who lives with a small golden gelding, and there is a pinto that arrived in the late fall. The only thing that would make the morning commute better is if I could stop and smell their necks on my journey; I’d leave earlier for that privilege.

Here's a picture of a fierce house finch that was not happy about sparrows hogging a feeder.

A new carol for the season

For something new and different, travel without an airport or sitting next to strangers. Jerry and I drove to Toronto for Christmas. It's only about ten hours from here. We planned the trip in early November and had planned to do a day trip to Niagara Falls one day, but as world travelers, we're always ready to shift and roll and change. And then the storm came, closing all of the Niagara areas as it was hammered with snow. Toronto got a little snow but heavy winds and it was very cold. Of course, things closed and we hunkered down. Then Jerry didn't feel well. And then things started to go downhill...so I've written a song about it, my song for Christmas. I can't wait to go back to Toronto, explore under better circumstances, and have dim sum in Chinatown. 

Happy new year, be safe, be kind, be well.

 

Didn’t the border agent say,
“Going to Toronto for something different, eh?”
With no idea how prophetic that would be…

The dogs at the doggy park
in boots and parkas
the Hockey Hall of Fame
decked out too, its

Christmas in Canada
with a winter bomb-cyclone
Christmas with Covid and you

The ice on Lake Ontario is shining
The hotel uncomfortably warm
The 4 am alarms and the weird overcharges
and the final night room change assured
We'd never try Christmas away from home again…

BUT it was Christmas in Canada
with a winter storm
Christmas with Covid

Christmas in Canada

though not the best Christmas 

but ... with .... you!

Deep, dark music

Last week I was closing the curtains at the end of the day, the end of light and a doe was tipping the bird feeder in the backyard like a kid trying to get that last peanut out of a box of crackerjacks. She froze as I came to the window and tried oh so nonchalantly to walk away. I’ve been wondering who or what has been busy emptying a few of these raccoon-proof feeders, and now I know.

Today I had to move that same feeder so I could see it from the desk in my office. It was windy and cold out, so I refilled all the feeders this morning and left a few hefty handfuls of seeds and peanuts around the yard then was rewarded with a series of little creatures visiting including this downy woodpecker.

Here’s a poem I read last night at the open mic for First Draft, one of the poems I wrote over the summer. I’ve got some poems bubbling about I can work on now.

How is the house so alive?
So much shifting during the day,
cracking into the night.

Skeleton and exoskeleton
within its walls muscle
& still thin bones
that are holding them
helped again by shingle
& shake or log filled
with mud or mud from
hard clay baked all-day
under the heat of the sun.

I want to believe we are its heart
but once built the house doesn’t need
us except for a little maintenance –
if the house is lucky to not be
poorly built or neglected – it does not need.
This house would be happy to shed
its skins and listen to the animals
& wind move through
with their deep, dark music.

Good things should always be shared, a repost from last year

When I was younger, I thought I would never marry, I wanted to travel and write and write and travel. In high school I remember a class with Mr. Cosgrove, he had so many stories and we got him off topic so much (he also loved to have trivia battles rather than teach!) I remember once he said, in answer to a question about marriage, he knew he wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with the woman he did marry; once he realized that he didn’t need anything else. That seemed a lofty thing though.

When I thought about love it was abstract and unknowable. And then I met someone who changed my mind. I thought about sharing a life with someone but didn’t see how this worked, (constantly recalling my father’s words when we argued about bedmaking (mine) “You don’t make your bed!” “I married someone to do it for me!”. It was so dismissive of my mother, his wife.

But then I remembered I did know of a partnership that seemed right, a model that made me feel like it was possible to, well, be in a partnership. I saw this model when I was 18; certain images stay with me, the passing of a hand over the loved one’s shoulder, a shared memory, and laughter; genuine care, and respect. Gentleness with each other. Kindness as creed. And I have been honored to be a part of this family, Dean asked me to be his daughter, happy to oblige. And Bette has been a teacher, mentor, and friend. They have given me so much. Support. Cheer. Many a meal. Poetry. A place to rest so often.

And they are the quintessential married couple. They’ve had highs and lows like us all but always seem to look outward. Yes, we carry on, but how are you? I’m so happy to know them. I’m so happy to wish them a happy anniversary.

The world goes on

Outside the chickadee and Carolina wren, the cardinals and the tufted titmice, sparrows galore, the Blue Jays and the flicker (that has decided this year the bird feeder is the best thing around) surround the house sharing the peanuts and birdseed, the suet blocks and the abundance of this mild rainy day. Yesterday on our ramble there was a particularly plaintive cry that only the squirrels make, and I always ask, “What’s wrong, Gerald?” (I call all squirrels, Gerald), but this time looking up I saw what was bothering Gerald, the two hawks in a neighboring tree looking down! “Good luck, buddy,” I said as we walked on.

Around the corner at the house on Vine (occasionally it flies a Union Jack, but right now a Ukrainian flag) none of the cats were around. Typically, at least three cats are lounging, but not yesterday. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, so I’m sure they had other things to do. I had one class on Wednesday and felt like finding a warm quiet place myself, but I’ll play cat another time. When we got home the black cat was out front pretending, she is shy, but she isn’t running any longer.

We woke yesterday to the news of another round of death and destruction due to America’s free-for-all with guns. The frequency of the carnage is such that even the calls for thoughts and prayers are being neglected. The cowards who have the ability to change the laws but are too enamored of money and power to do more than pay lip service to the problem are silent. Let’s call every bullet an abortion and see how quickly they pivot. Prolife indeed.

And while we’re counting the dead, in the past week Covid numbers (at least those reported) fell below 300 for a day or two. But it didn’t last long, right back to 311 today. And the confusion on the pandemic continues a sampling of headlines from this week: we’re heading into a triple threat of RSV, Omicron and Flu; Omicron surge is coming; more vaccinated people are dying because the efficacy has worn off, and hey, it’s all over.

If there’s something we are really good at here in America, oh like forever, is following these awesome and exceptional narratives about how awesome and exceptional we are. Go team America.

Well.

I’m grateful for the birds, and the man, the Bambina and her man, my boy wherever he is and my friends. My big family is gathering elsewhere, and the new family is safe and sound as well. I have a good, warm house, some wonderful food cooking (right now) and a gentle rain falling.

Be safe, be kind, find a warm place to rest. Read some poetry.

The sky puts on its clear
face just a dawn blush
and golden shine as the sun
is met on the horizon,
the earth’s rotation
this old globe’s tilt.
In the fall cold, birdsong: 

the world goes on.