A bread and butter jar-full
on the vine
waiting for you to get home.
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
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cigarettes, Drought, dust, haiku, photographs, poetry
First dawn after a rain
turkey vultures need
room to dry their feathers.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged haiku, photographs, poetry, rain, turkey vulture, weekly-photo-challenge
Of this earth and all its erosion,
its granite and baked clay slopes
alive with cycles of seed and grass,
we revel in its wet bounty
and die a little in dry hard times.
We have become the cows we raise
in time, generations of calves that stayed
to nurse another—this earth their home.
We are the strong and lucky ones
to be living in the middle of a miracle.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, flower-friday, photographs, poetry, wildflowers
I’ve little time for wonder—
warm days plod circles,
wear dust tracks in thin dry grass
we follow like cow trails
without endings,
without looking beyond them.
There is no adventure,
no endorphin rush,
no epiphany other than
one more summer
to endure, to survive
like lichen on rock.