Tag Archives: Dry Creek

NARANJA

 

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Beginning to end,
tender loins and fruit on fire
finding Nirvana.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Orange”

 

SHOOTING STARS

 

Sierra Shooting Star (Dodecatheon jeffreyi) - March 3, 2015

Sierra Shooting Star (Dodecatheon jeffreyi) – March 3, 2015

 

No wildflower man, but of all he saw
worth a mention once or twice
in his lifetime—suggesting value

in the time invested for a boy’s
inspection. Too delicate to touch,
what could we know of grace

refined by harsh survival,
each tangent honed to fit and fly
by millennia of failures?

Perhaps heaven-sent by night
to find transcending daylight
well-apart from the myopic zeal

of mortals, these long stems arched
above the grass on steep and damp
north slopes just waiting to be seen.

 

RAIN IN THE GROUND

 

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Perfect for early bloomers,
Fiddleneck, White-veined Mallow,
London Rockets pale the pasture.

Rain in the ground, thick Filaree
overreaches like loose-fringed
lettuce for more—more of the same.

Grass ahead of the cattle, it’s war—
every seed battling for real estate,
real dirt damp, for sun and rain,

green hills puddled with spilt paint.
Everything perfect on it’s own, yet
I fret with the brittle momentum

of lean, dry years—months of dust
and hay—a hard pace that interferes
with becoming forgiving as this ground

exploding in all the colors of rain.
Desperately, I reach through
early morning black for light.

 

BERMUDA BUTTERCUP

 

Bermuda Buttercup (Oxalis pes-caprae) - March 1, 2015

Oxalis pes-caprae – March 1, 2015

 

Non-native invasive,
clusters of yellow spill down
draws along the road.

 

SPRING DAWN 2015

 

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Just short of heaven,
dust and ashes come alive
to color hillsides.

 

 

WPC — “Reward”

 

HOMEMAKING

 

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                        Perhaps man has a hundred senses, and when he dies
                        only the five senses that we know perish with him,
                        and the other ninety-five remain alive.

                              – Anton Chekhov (“The Cherry Orchard”)

The past walks here, all the dead
horses and livestock men grazing
a hundred and fifty springs—

all the promises and passion spilled
upon this wild mat of grass and flowers,
naked lovers idly pinching petals

along the creek for centuries
within the mottled shade
these same trees have cast, yet see

to keep alive. We have had
our moments here, left ourselves
so wholly that we rise and rest

among them, add our song
to the canyon, our cries to the sky
to forever make our home.

 

COWGIRLS AT WORK

 

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Crossing into spring
to move the low cattle up
to let the grass grow.

 

HOMECOMING

 

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On the low, rocky ridge,
a Roadrunner moans for a mate
in declining octaves—first awake

February mornings, ever hopeful
for a better day of circumnavigating
barn and garden. Then returns

to hear his song carry to the creek
that has found the river now
for the first time in years, tying

dry ground, this canyon together—
breathing easier, whole again,
it spreads coolly through us

as Wood Ducks skip upstream
to feed beneath the canopies
of old oaks and sycamores.

We have learned the call,
draw him closer with an answer
only more rain can bring.

 

BABY BLUE EYES

 

Nemophila menziesii - February, 24, 2015

Nemophila menziesii – February, 24, 2015

 

Delicate patches
along the creek, they flourish—
mother’s favorite.

 

NEVER ALONE

 

Easter 2013

Easter 2013

 

I made a joke of it:
attending funerals
as the price of survival—

saying goodbye, adios
as their souls ascended
to meet eternity, look

down occasionally
on our plight
of being human

and whisper in our ears.
With no wants,
they must envy

the depth of our passion
and its sensitive
entanglements, our pride

erected and dedicated
for their inspection.
We are never alone.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Rule of Thirds”