Random Ramble Randomness

 I've been missing for a while as I went to Oregon (and back) and then Jerry and I did a ramble: Peoria, Minneapolis, Madison, Detroit, Niagara Falls, Rochester, and then Columbus. We went to parks and museums, bookstores, and fairs (county and state), thrift stores, and a cat sanctuary with over 350 cats. And now we're ready for a little at-home time before school starts. We enjoyed the vagabond life. A lot. Be careful, be kind. Enjoy the exit to Hope. ☺

A week in the world without you

I wonder if you would care, your missing so evident in my everyday world already. The last poem I sent, the last picture. the last ping I asked you to acknowledge. So I put your name here and hope that the skies are full of the stars we watched so many times. I will count every night that they allow. 

Poem for the son who has turned away

I can’t capture birdsong
or the draft that hawks
ride over just-mown fields.

As blackbirds pepper
the clouds – west to east mornings
east to west of an afternoon –

I pause to listen to the wave
of wings; their cries
soft bells against the leaden sky.

Hardness washes
my heart like the particular howls
of dogs, their sleep erased

by a siren’s piercing scream.
A lonely wail and echo
until all is silent again.

the difference between solitude and loneliness *

 

You are nothing but roads interrupted by wheels *

There are moments around 2 am (or 4 or 1 or 3) when memory is vacant. You wake only to darkness and quiet and listen to the steady breath of the man next to you. You thank the darkness for his sleep as memory surfaces. There should be heartache, but the heart is full of ash; ash has no feeling. Instead, my feet and ankles ache as though the heart has actually fallen as far as it can and still be contained in the body, and there, equally distributed, pain lives. Outside the darkness is alive. In the shadows, a fox questions what has been left out that the raccoon passed up, perhaps she has followed the path of the squirrels that have been in and out of the yard all afternoon. Above her, the leaves are like butterflies that have become lost in this dark time. I don’t want to be the fox or the night or the wayward stars. I want to be those leaves, especially the ones low enough to graze tall creatures that venture here. Let me touch the doe as she snacks on clover or jumps with her sisters through the dew-covered dawn. Let me witness the fox her nose reading the night. Let me imagine the house asleep and whole.

I consider how it is to swallow grief *

This blue heron was hunting the pond lip telling me no closer please as I snapped this quick shot. It looks like it is foggy but it's just the pale sky reflecting. The pond edge is filled like a beach with leaf litter from all the trees that have dropped their spring clothes for the hardier summer fare. Mornings have been cooler here this past week, with low humidity and bright skies. Occasionally herons and egrets fly over our house, they are always silent, but I see them and follow their flight. There are many ponds and streams in my neighborhood and there is a constant shift of beasts moving to and from around us, silent and often unseen until one is lucky enough to catch them where they live, careful and wild.

 

Praise the sky, for how well it mourns*

Sun flares at my neighbor’s bird feeder
bright flashes of molten gold, fluttering
like a winged creature. The trees
must be seared with this much heat

blazing in the deep shade. This morning

I didn’t believe it possible to see 

color again, but green
is still a fixture in the world,
the spirea’s pink mix still draws
the bees. In this brief life flowers
in bloom yesterday were still here today.
A hawk landed so close I could count
the feathers ruffled from the landing
and I was surprised by its texture
and tones. It held its stare just long
enough to let my heart ease.

*from "Wi-Fi in the Cemetery" by Hussain Ahmed
 

Each touch uncatches