I would like to say that thinking
like cattle is preferable to humans
who need immediate answers
and science to prove them right,
whose urgency demands action
and reaction until the herd’s
thundering hooves stampede
the earth into atomic dust.
Cattle would not press any matter
enough to destroy themselves,
but rather play domestic than wild
given time to weigh your wishes.
Making sense of them you must
be cordial, shed your fear and anger—
try to remember the Golden Rule.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, photography, poetry
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Calves, cows, photography, twins, Wordless Wednesday
My reading slow, I hold the sounds
scratched on paper, hear a song
that draws me near, behind your eyes—
ten thousand rivers fall in moonlight,
all the stars like cold fire streaming
from the mountains and you are there.
Beyond them, beyond you and I,
we cannot hear or see, even in daylight,
swept up in the Canyon Wren’s cascades
falling into pools lapping mossy rocks.
My empty mind is full with your eyes
on paper I can revisit any time of day.
He wears his father’s stamp
at five weeks, biggest bull calf
in a family of cows and babies
ready to hold his herd against
anyone of any breed
at first light crawling out
from under the black screeches
and howls of darkness beyond
the moving shadows of a half-moon.
We are born with it, you know—
instinct deep within the soft marrow
of our bones living with wild
uncertainty until our fathers
return home. And we will follow,
watch and try to help them work
all day long, learn what we have yet
to grow into—and sleep bone-weary
with pastoral dreams of peace.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged bull calves, cows, photography, poetry
We come naked and wet
into a place knowing nothing,
blood stirring cooler
under rough tongues,
familiar reverberations
of outside sounds
clearing our coats of afterbirth,
cleansing the scent that draws
the cleanup crews on this earth
hungry for work, before
we ever nurse, before
we stand and step
up to the plate, fill ourselves
and face new lessons
best we can. Slowly we learn
to keep the faith
and our opinions
to ourselves.
We’re on the right track identifying yesterday’s wildflower thanks to Richard’s comment and friends of Facebook friends from CNPS. I’ve included the larger plant because I can’t visually confirm suggestions from Calflora photos, i.e. Camissonia contorta, Camissonia campestris, Camissonia pallida , etc. and to offer more information to those who’ve made suggestions.
This Camissonia is tough, right in the path to the corrals where a hundred head passed over it several times this spring. Our fate does not hinge on absolute identification, but far more interesting than this election.
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, photography, Sun Cup, wildflowers
I found a little patch of these interesting wildflowers on a well-traveled, sandy bank of Dry Creek in mid-April 2016. At first I thought they were Pygmy Poppies, but they may not be poppies at all.
Flower Friday
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, flower-friday, photography, wildflowers
I realize that in terms of body and spirit,
body grows sick while spirit’s immune,
– Po Chü-i (“Climbing Mountains in Dream”)
Like a wall, hooks in hand,
I’ve scaled bales of hay stacked
too far off the ground to fall
for nearly fifty winters, boot toes
feeling for a crack and hang
while synapse talks to flesh—
a longer conversation now
for this ascension. I can fly
in my dreams, scramble
like a squirrel up a tree.
Awake: my spirit intact, in touch
with heart and mind’s belief
in these old knees they will escape
after the truck is loaded, cattle
fed—when the work is done.
Wordless Wednesday
Late spring rains last into October,
empty-headed wild oats bow
to a southwest wind suggesting change
from broiling days—maybe rain.
Snakes crawl out from under shade,
backs to the sun, warm their bellies
in fine trail dust. Blue Oaks shed
large dark acorns glinting
in dry leaves like burnished gems
and we are rich, breathe deep relief
as fresh calves find steady legs
to run without direction, learn to stop.
We gladly give all up to chance
and certain change believing
this is the time we live for.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blue Oak, Calves, photography, poetry, rain, weather, wildlife
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