
Light rain like fog
gray in the canyon
closes the world away—
privacy to contemplate
the prolonged moment
that asks no questions
of the no one
you have become
among the mountains.

Light rain like fog
gray in the canyon
closes the world away—
privacy to contemplate
the prolonged moment
that asks no questions
of the no one
you have become
among the mountains.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal

Gabe Arroyo would make his rounds
like a jovial Santa at Christmas
with a pickup load of honey and Patron
on the ranches where he kept his hives
for the winter—have an early morning toast
to the New Year:
1 generous shot of Tequilla
2 shots of fresh-squeezed orange juice
in a glass of pomegranate nectar
leftover from Robbin’s jelly. He’d get a jar
and we’d have another round or so
his son-in-law could drive him home.
Gabe’s gone, but we make merry
with his holiday spirit
as if he were still here.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Christmas, Gabe Arroyo, honey, New Years, old days, photography, poetry, recipe, tequila

Last year’s fine hair,
dry and hollow-stemmed
screens renewed green
sheltered in rocks
that once were one
mind, one set of eyes
to record the wild cycle
of new roots from old
seeds of life — hope
and grace apart
from the rubble
of mankind.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, photography, poetry, rain, rocks, seed, weather, wild

First rain
the gophers clean their houses,
stack tailings high
where the Great Blues wait,
stand like statues,
like soldiers across the pasture
for the slightest movement
of well-worked mounds
to stab a meal—then toss it up,
catch open-beaked
and let it slide
down a snaky neck.
My father loved them,
loved the fact
they were working for him.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry
Tagged Dry Creek, gophers, Great Blue Herons, photography, poetry, rain

Beyond these Chinese solar lights,
wide tracts of black
beneath the storm front
that shrouds the mountains,
our cows and calves
curled upon the green.
Tiny plastic suns and moons
charged with yesterday’s sunshine
defy the night,
defy the news,
defy the wolves
always circling
around our fire.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry
Tagged night, photography, poetry, SOLAR LIGHTS, wolves

They did not care when
Sir Francis Drake claimed them
for the Queen, or when the Spanish
held and lost them
to the Mexicans
and their vaqueros—
they did not care
when Bequettes brought
the first Devins in
to shade beneath their canopies
along the creek—
they did not care.
Long white limbs,
they will dance for anyone
once they lose their leaves.
* * * *
The Sycamore Alluvial Woodland on Dry Creek is the third largest in the world and the largest in the Sierra Nevada Ecoregion.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, photography, poetry, Sycamore Alluvial Woodland

A little rain,
a little green,
a little cold
short of a December freeze
my girls dress
in fiery colors
along the creek trickling
before winter’s strip-tease:
long limbs reaching
from the clothes at their feet.
Some trees have drunk
more than they can hold,
dropping limbs on fences—
but nimble and sylphlike,
they have shown a millennium
a glimpse of sensual grace.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2024, poetry, Ranch Journal