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

 

Normal ogres are enough

It is always a wondrous event when the first firefly I see is somehow, inexplicably spotted in the house. A flash at the edge of the room, a glow for a moment beside the window, and then the creature zips over and lands beside me. Hello. I scooped her up, opened the door, and ushered her out. See you later. I haven’t seen any outside as it grows dark. Of course, the rain has been pretty heavy late in the day. Tonight, it should be dry and quiet.

This morning, my first day without homework or classes, I attacked the forsythia. It grows like Jack’s Beanstalk, and I don’t need any giants getting down here. Normal ogres are enough. So, I decided to take it almost to the ground, it felt good to cut it back and according to the gardening information must be done before July and between rains. This shrub is at the corner of the house next to the raised bed where I am happy to report the tomatoes have survived! Huzzah. They don’t look super, but they will pick up. Tomorrow, I need to get the spirea off the house and trim the dead stalks from the hydrangea and check the lilacs. I’m a little behind on the yard maintenance of certain things. Today I also went and got hanging baskets (petunias) for the front of the house now that all the shrubs there have been cut back (not by me but by a brother lawncare team), I also moved the teal fox back to a place of prominence. I have placed two begonias back onto the front porch and the geraniums, both of which are at least three years old, and I just repot and propagate. The other two begonias are staying inside this year, true houseplants.

I’m working on a poem inspired by the Italian painter, Giotto di Bondone’s Lamentation from the Arena Chapel in Rome. I have never been to this chapel, but I will go next time I’m in Rome. We’ll see how it goes, getting the actions or inactions of the angels right will be key. Anyway, here are some yard scenes and my indulgence: cut flowers.

Totality of metaphor

    Sifting through the last couple of days of classes, totally done with English. Two more in-person for anthropology, tomorrow and Friday, Friday is the test. Two more days of lit class, tomorrow and next Monday, which is when we present whatever book we chose for the final project – I chose Appalachian Elegy by bell hooks, I plan on discussing why the book fits this course and then reading poems by hooks and other from the region. And in Art, there is an online test that needs to be done by Wednesday the 17th at 1159pm. He may post a video for another discussion since we didn’t get the entire writing portion of the class done. One year down.

    Here’s a picture of the sculpture Quantum Man by Julian Voss-Andreae taken at the Maryhill Museum taken in May 2017. We were back from Belgium because after so many years you’re encouraged to go stateside and visit and as we had left from Oregon that’s where the ticket “home” took us. We visited this day with the boy, he came grudgingly, but he came. I wasn’t aware of the totality of the metaphor when I took the shot, but it popped up a day or so ago in my memories, isn’t gut-punch technology amazing? Two figures and then the disappearing...

    And for another gut-punch a poem from Saeed Jones which makes me think we are all Quantum Man…