No spring chicken, she’s let herself go
wild after a decade of waterless summers
as if saving up the emptiness to fill at once—
every wrinkle in these hills oozing rivulets
into foaming cappuccino creeks cresting
towards runaway rivers spilling, flooding
valley towns and farm ground with lakes
and bogs—all the years of prayers answered
with much more passion than we wanted.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, flood, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, PRAYERS, rain, weather
Every day is a holiday
when you can’t remember
what day it is—
when you can’t leave the driveway,
can’t leave the blacktop,
when it’s too wet to plow
for weeks at a time
as the creek rises and falls
with Atmospheric Rivers.
The finches bring branches
of dry debris, Roadrunners
chaunt solicitous love songs
despite the divine disasters
that temper mortal urgencies
a week away from the Equinox.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, poetry, Ranch Journal
Tagged Atmospheric Rivers, cabin fever, Dry Creek, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, rain, weather
1.
Thrum upon the roof,
the creek stretches loudly now,
rain streams day and night
from heaven’s dark skies—
a decade of dreams and prayers
descend upon us.
2.
Our totems come and go to rest
before our eyes, eagles and herons
inspect our souls without asking,
families of quail titter at our feet,
antlers tilt to consider our hunger
in places we mark in our memories.
3.
She doesn’t care, has no compassion
for our self-indulgence, shapes her track
of least resistance embracing landscapes,
rearranging the gravity of facts
we must endure when she leaves us
with fresh metaphors into the future.
Posted in Haiku 2023, Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, metaphors, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, rain, snow, weather
Your robe’s frozen sleeve
reaches the creek once again,
my unending friend,
you carry both storm
and heaven on your shoulders
when I reflect up—
face unwavering
beneath sun and starlit night
always in the morning.
______________________________________
It’s been interesting weather, now half-way through our rainy season, over 18 inches of rain after a decade of drought. Already whispers from the loudest drought complainers for relief as these hills leak crystal rivulets again.
We lost a month in time in January to the Atmospheric River during branding season, and now with nearly 3 inches in the past 3 days and 3 inches more forecast for the next three, it will be at least a week before we can get to our upper country to brand the last bunch, putting us close to the middle of March. These calves will be big, a handful.
The Paregien Ranch ranges from 2,000 to 2,600 with its own light blanket of snow now, time-released moisture soaking into the clay and granite ground that leaks down the smooth rock waterfalls of Ridenhour Canyon, adding to Dry Creek that peaked at 684 cfs last night, that probably washed out some of our watergaps replaced after January’s peak flow over 3,500 cfs.
Job security, but patience until we can get there—you can’t fight Mother Nature, just try to adapt and face the consequences—fully enjoy her luxuriant and persistent presence after so much needed moisture.
Posted in Haiku 2023, Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged branding, Drought, Dry Creek, grass, green, haiku, Mother Nature, Paregien, patience, photography, poetry, rain, snow, Sulphur Peak, weather
No word of the whereabouts
of La Niña 3, one more dry year
waiting in the wings to sell cows
and feed more hay—instead,
8 days rain out of 9 and more
to come, bare canyon green.
We are helpless, flood or drought,
her fickle Nature always serving
what she wants, anywhere, anytime.
Posted in Photographs, POEMS 2023, Ranch Journal
Tagged cattle, Drought, green, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, rain, rainbow, weather
Sigh no more, ladies.
Time is male
and in his cups drinks to the fair.
– Adrienne Rich (“Sanpshots of a Daughter-in-Law”)
The women here wear leaves,
offer shade and dance in place
of plans to clear the unimproved—
or they bear children, populate
with coyote pups that learn
to clean the plates of men
girls fill with grass, raising
cows for heifer calves—
women teaching women.
The hawks are nesting, almost
everything on the wind
is a feminine production—
no passing fad for a buck.
I’ll raise my glass, bet
our future on the women.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2016
Tagged Adrienne Rich, cows, female, Mother Nature, photography, poetry, wildlife, women
We are, and always have been, subjects
of the weather, of the blazing sun
and phasing moon, the swirling winds
and tides—subjects, lackeys to the Queen’s
whims and oversights—all men’s progress
subject to a careless sleeve. We think
we know her moods, read the signs,
taste change, but wait for instruction.
We are among the insects of the grasses,
our labors short-lived and forgotten
on this planet, with our real selves
but a mumble in the background.
We must learn to sing, find a voice
to harmonize with every changing
circumstance—a steady rhythm
we can dance to without stumbling.
No one of us can save the world
its pain, far greater than we care
to imagine, but before us each
new day, a place to put our hearts
and hands to work—opportunities
to improve the space in which we live—
a contagious caring running beneath
the outrageous currents we can’t control.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015
Tagged grasses, Humanity, insects, Mother Nature, real selves, weather, weekly-photo-challenge
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