Like fighter jets after hawks,
they nose dive the dog,
attack from redwood boughs
to protect a fledgling
too soon on the ground.
A community, a murder, a grind,
a merle or murmuration
of blackbirds has moved-in,
displaced the finches’
crimson dance upon the rail
with cocky walks and orgies
of foreplay and flittering sex
anywhere they please—but ready
to herd a rattlesnake
out of the garden and barnyard.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Brewer's Blackbird, collective nouns, Dry Creek, photography, poetry
The birds are pairing up
as crimson-chested finches
dance and sing upon the railing,
beak-to-beak foreplay,
wing feathers quivering
before making a home
as house-hunting quail
split from their covey
to explore the garden.
A flock of strutting blackbirds
gets acquainted
while combing the ground,
and the killdeer practice
hollowing nests
in the gravel drive
analyzing traffic
before settling down
to hatch four eggs.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Blackbirds, House Finches, Killdeer, quail, spring
Blading the season’s last green grass
for firebreaks, I need to concentrate
far away from the world’s turmoil,
peel the weeds out of the soil
or sever their roots, over and over
the same ground until smooth—
an impatient perfectionist,
carving a twelve foot road
the cattle will travel and dimple
like a golf ball, but will stop fire
if not too windy to ignite
wild oats and tall dry feed
easier than I can throttle back
the flow of pompous rhetoric
that has ignited global animosity.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged firebreaks, photography, poetry, politics
Dicentra chrysantha, Woolley Canyon April 12, 2025
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal, Wildlfowers
Tagged Golden Eardrops, photographs
A wonderful day for Robbin and me touring Woolley Canyon with Chuck and Lesley Fry where Virginia and Ken Mckee run their cows and calves. Though wild and rough (it takes a week to gather), it’s the most diverse piece of ground, ranging upwards to 3,600 feet, I’ve ever seen. Lots of wildflowers new to me:
Indian Pink (Silene californica)
Indian Warrior (Pedicularis densiflora)
Posted in Photographs, Ranch Journal, Wildlfowers
Tagged Indian Pink, Indian Warrior, wildflowers, Woolley Canyon
Epaulets on his shoulders,
I remember the cocky strut
of the redwing blackbird
beneath the grain bucket
mornings when we saddled horses,
back when we had a pond,
wild ducks and nested cattails,
but not enough water
to watch it evaporate—
and I miss them, miss the
mallards come the gloaming
on whistling feathers
with bellyflop landings
to safely spend the night.
It’s all about water.
Posted in Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged cattails, poetry, pond, redwing blackbird, water
When the rains come right
and knee-deep green feed hides
beneath Fiddleneck in the flats,
we forget the bare, baked slopes
cut by dusty cow trails plunging
to the murmur of the diesel truck
spilling alfalfa flakes the length
of undressed pastures—lost bawling
calves and slow thin cows.
So blessed to have disremembered
the lean dry times, we believe
the miracle is normal, that Hera
and her daughters will set-up camp
and stay a fruitful future for man
and beast, creeks in the canyons—
a tangible fantasy for the thriving
when the rains come right
to change our way of thinking.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, miracles, photography, poetry, rain, spring, weather
Early spring garnish
before a mid-March rain,
wild colors claiming
lush shades of green
that cattle finish grazing
by eight o’clock.
Everybody feels
what’s coming,
despite the sunshine—
despite the rattling
of sabers
from would-be kings.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged rain, storms, wildflowers, would-be kings
Snow comes off the mountain
on the backs of trucks,
white caps on compacts
like trophies
to melt on roads
into town—
cold hands
shoveled dirt driveways
steer downhill.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek Road, snow, Sulphur Peak, weather
Our canyon gleams
with sunlit shades
of rejuvenated green,
dirt tracks damp
after rain, white skiffs
of popcorn flowers
primed to usurp the flats
and gentle slopes
to divvy up with gilded
fiddleneck before the blue
lupine and golden poppies
display the sloppy guise
of springtime’s spilt paint
for photographs, daydreams
and April showers.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2025, poetry, Ranch Journal
