Plenty of empty jars,
she was just short
Mustard Seed and energy.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Armenian cucumbers, bread & butter pickles, canning, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry
Near the Solstice,
my irrigation water languishes,
lollygags in the pasture
of short-cropped green
and a few too many cows—
soaking and absorbed
fifty yards shy
of the wilting end
to my temporary world.
Fifty years ago,
my mother’s father
curtly admonished me,
forever instilled
that nothing is permanent.
After a dark night
of chasing dreams,
I wonder if death
is nothing—
nothing more
than a good sleep
while the water runs
to pasture’s end.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged death, Dry Creek, irrigation, nothing, permanent, photographs, poetry, water, weather
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Clean slate—fresh faith
rising to meet daylight
when anything can happen.
5:14 a.m., May 24, 2014
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, haiku, Hawthorn Moon, photographs, Planting Moon, poetry, Venus, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Armenian cucumber, bread & butter pickles, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged dawn, haiku, photographs, poetry, Sulphur Peak, sundog
We are gnats on the elephant
dependent on weather
and her mastodonian nature:
a flick of an ear or a downpour.
She has taught us to be adaptable,
to stay humble, to turn tragedies
to opportunities and despite
our good luck, revel quietly
upon our small part of her dusty
hide. And she accepts us—as long as
we remain less irritating than those
on the rest of her landscape.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Greasy corrals, Greasy Creek, photographs, poetry, rain, Sulphur Peak, weather
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, feed, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, Wagyu X mothers, water, weather, weeds
Dawn bears down early,
sears flesh exposed,
blinds eye and mind
into a fuzzy daze,
fiery-white as hell
must be. We plod
slowly with heads bowed
to mantras of water
keeping the living alive.
Like cattle, we bed with
welcome breezes moving
shade to shade.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Dry Creek, photographs, poetry, San Joaquin Valley, Sulphur Peak, summer, sunrise, weather