In dry times, the gods retreat
to the granite, forsake the clay
and its inhabitants to fashion
spring upon the open slopes
with skiffs of blooming dots
à la Monet—above the dust
rising between green fading
and leaves curling red, it’s not
quite heaven, but enough.
Claude Monet – 1840-1926
courtesy Wikipedia
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Claude Monet, Drought, flower-friday, photographs, poetry, wildflowers
Paregien Ranch – April 8, 2014
During this drought, we’ve often made the distinction between our granite country at the higher elevations of the ranch, generally above 1,500 feet, and the clay slopes below that. In contrast with the last post, we put out salt and mineral at the Paregien Ranch and checked the feed and fleshiness of our cattle to help determine when we will gather and wean the calves. Obviously it’s another world up there, receiving over 2 inches of rain at the first of the month, and the cattle are doing fine.
Paregien Ranch – April 8, 2014
Pogue Canyon – March 25, 2014
Islands of bare, red clay
on shallow green receding—
seeds that never swelled
to root ceramic slopes
or went with clouds
from cloven hooves—
stare back sternly.
She is dry,
nothing left to offer
the eye—only
the lone calf
grazing shores
for the overlooked
knows no better
world than this.
With rain, even lichen
and moss vie for space—
breathe life into a rock.
Hide of a Herford calf
at a distance—red
lichen living on rock.
From the embrace of shade,
shelter from the elements,
we watch the world.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Dark portal reserved for spring
without an address
or need for a door.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged haiku, photographs, poetry, sycamore, weekly-photo-challenge
“We may be living on an atom
in somebody’s wallpaper.”
– Wendell Berry (“Dust”)
1.
Between worlds, the sun leaked through
the shingles of Granddad’s dark shed
where the pixie dust would dance, sparkle
within light beams, as my sister and I
urged invisible steeds to town adventures—
fly aboard the manure spreader stored
for the future, the iron wheels and idle
wagon tongue would wait to take us
to wild dimensions for young dreams.
2.
The friction wears us smooth and fine,
cobbles, sand and dust. In the dry years
midden rises under hoof on a gust,
generations lifted to cloud the light
that smell like deer hides and taste
like acorns—tiny planets inhaled
behind cattle drawn to gather here
to wait and see how serious we are
about leaving what feels like peace.
3.
Through a stained glass window high
above the hand-hewn beams in the adobe
Chapel atop the prep school’s hill,
the call of selflessness floated on motes
that framed the sermon, moving me
from the wooden pews filled with two
hundred other vacant blue blazers
into another world for a week or so, yet
clings still to particles that float in space.
To cowgirl-up is just
one more day to ride
to build another loop.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Alie McKee, branding, haiku, photographs, poetry
Clear and crisp yesterday afternoon, I took a short walk down the driveway with the big lens towards the Prickly Pear cactus where the Roadrunners are nesting, wanting also to show you how the Filaree has come back in a week’s time after 1.38″ of rain. Growing again, it’s amazing feed! (Click to enlarge the thumbnails below.)
March 25, 2014
April 1, 2014
The Roadrunners share their Prickly Pear home with about a dozen Cottontail rabbits who delight in waiting until the last moment before moving to avoid a vehicle coming or leaving the house. They’re fairly tame, but it’s a rare Bobcat or Coyote that can catch one.
Back at the house, the pair of Roadrunners were hunting snails in Robbin’s Irises.
A beautiful day for fools, we never left home with plenty to see and do between rains.
April fools making
promises on a pillow kept
for nineteen years.
drycrikjournal 