What has become of us,
O’ Humanity,
quick to fire
at silhouettes in shadows,
raw anger mobbing
thoroughfares,
wars everywhere?
We need a holiday
off—a truce,
some space and peace
with this economy—
time to care.
An early Christmas wish,
a common gift
we all can share.
Rare October Redbud bloom
summoned Monarchs,
began a two-year drought.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, haiku, Monarch Butterfly, photographs, poetry, Redbud, weather, weekly-photo-challenge, wildflowers, wildlife
A song, not mine,
stuttered in the flame.
– Wendell Berry (“From the Distance”)
I was awake and she was smiling,
eyes speaking through the darkness—
tears of relief in my own.
We have our visitors, hear the gravel
on the drive turn under wheel,
without warning. Or the dog barks.
Or upon the happenstance of a phrase
yet echoing, they arrive
around the fire we are warmed by.
Living beyond the life we contemplate,
they assure us with a sign, align
the flight of birds with words
gliding, or in a whir of wings
they clutch our hearts. Are we
but aging flesh measured by numbers
and graded like meat to be consumed
by the machine, or is there another
currency common among all men?
The wells run deeper now
past the Pleistocene and into salt
at half a million bucks a pop
for the last of the water
as the Valley collapses
under the weight
of farming investors
for the moment
leaving Mom and Pop
and forty acres
high and dry
with one last roll
for agribusiness—
one last extraction
from a thirsty future.
No dirt farmers left
to turn the earth,
make sweet love
with furrows
and pruning sheers
for a crop to harvest,
wobbly wagon loads
to railroad towns
grown bright and urban
in a couple of lifetimes
farming the future.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged agribusiness, birds, Drought, farming, groundwater, photographs, poetry, Red Tail Hawk, San Joaquin Valley, water, weather, wells, wildlife
A man builds a house around a fire,
rocks and hearth upon the earth—
cuts wood to feed it, to stand close
to the flame when cold to the bone—
a luxury: he gets in touch
with the basics, with the tree.
Sometimes he says a little prayer
for the century felled or fallen,
or nods to hardwood cores intact
all his long life, stacking brush
for quail, cleaning up for grass
and cattle, like we’ve never been here.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Blue Oak, Dry Creek, firewood, photographs, poetry, wildlife
She knows her wood
and how long it will last—
loves Blue Oak coals
and the Live Oak with little ash.
Redwood splinters for an ember,
Manzanita for heat and flame,
she keeps a never-ending fire
three months warm each year.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged Blue Oak, Calves, firewood, Paregien Ranch, photographs, poetry, wood stove
Black, no stars—a mist before the storm
stacks-up against the Sierra Nevadas—
rises and rains just in time for grass
struggling with hard, thirsty clay.
We, too, have grown hard
with no deep moisture, roots dry
and brittle as the Live Oaks offering
boughs full of brown medallions.
The problem bears have moved
to town, followed the Kaweah
down into backyards and alleys,
packs of hungry coyotes behind them.
Slow and gentle would be best
for the red, south and west slopes,
any kind of puddles for the flats—
but whatever we get, we’ll like it ☺
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Drought, Dry Creek, Kaweah, photographs, poetry, rain, Sierra Nevadas, water, weather, wildlife, Wood Ducks
Coffee at dawn, drumming
the Honey Locust—
old men talk, listening.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged birds, Dry Creek, garden, haiku, photographs, poetry, Red-Breasted Sapsucker, wildlife
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014
Tagged cows, driving cattle, Dry Creek, haiku, photographs, poetry, weekly-photo-challenge
December 8, 2010
The green struggles in the clay.
Sycamores stand half-dressed
beside an empty bed exposing
white limbs as the sun sets.
The shadow of the ridge behind us
becomes a long, dark stage
for a chorus line of dancing girls,
arms entwined, kicking high
at the gate as we leave home
for a fire upstream—turkey
trimmed with camaraderie.
No traffic on the road to see
these celebrations along the creek
as the canyon waits for rain.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2014, Ranch Journal
Tagged Dry Creek, Dry Creek Road, photographs, poetry, rain, sycamores, water, weather
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