Tag Archives: rain

BABY BLUE EYES

Posted on February 25, 2015 by | 4 comments

 

Nemophila menziesii - February, 24, 2015

Nemophila menziesii – February, 24, 2015

 

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

 

4 Comments

Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Ranch Journal

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NEVER ALONE

Posted on February 24, 2015 by | 9 comments

 

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”

 

9 Comments

Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

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REAL LIFE

Posted on February 23, 2015 by | 5 comments

 

Whitetip Clover (Trifolium variegatum) - March 24, 2013

Whitetip Clover (Trifolium variegatum) – March 24, 2013

 

In the dark I hear the heartbeat
of another world on this planet
the newscasts miss, we overlook

amid conflicting calculations
with new angles on the numbers
to chart a course to reverse them—

eyes spinning within a slot machine.
Light applause on the roof
answers with one more encore

wrenched from early morning’s
black sky, each green blade,
thick as dog hair in these hills

puddled with brightly colored petals
already reaching for first light.
In the dark I hear the heartbeat

of wet ground growing stronger,
inhale its sweet breath
all-around me releasing life.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Rule of Thirds”

 

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015

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TOWARDS TONOPAH

Posted on February 22, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

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Left 100 miles
towards Tonopah, dry hay
for California.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Rule of Thirds”

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Posted in Haiku 2015, Photographs, Poems 2015

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ALMOST MARCH

Posted on February 21, 2015 by | 4 comments

 

IMG_5687 - Version 2

 

Thin veil of snow on the Kaweahs—
granite shows on peaks undressing.
The creek slows and disappears

as the thirsty earth drinks miles
from the river, puddled behind a dam
that will not fill the Valley’s furrows.

Tan medallions, last spring’s leaves
quiver from brittle fingers of oak trees
sprinkling green hills, giving centuries

of rainfall back as decomposing homes
for smaller survivors. It is not over
despite a forecast chance of rain—

dry seasons last, leave evidence only
years of floods can erase. Almost March,
the buzzards have returned early

circling an easy harmony of generations
gone—each clear voice rising,
we hear assurance and good advice.

 

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

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LIKE CATTLE

Posted on February 20, 2015 by | 6 comments
February 15, 2015

February 15, 2015

 

                         the green growth the mind takes
                         from the pastures in March;
                              – Wendell Berry (“Goods”)

Like cattle filling bellies
becoming whole to bloom,
resting early in the shade of limbs
awaiting leaves, the pastures pulse
with goodness for as far as I can see.

How spring seemed so much longer
when I was a boy, the world wider
as the hills came alive, breathing
easily as apparitions danced
upon the green between rains.

And it becomes us to overwhelm
all else—renewed proof and hope
for mankind—pattern and possibility
yet on this earth that we absorb
like grass. And we feed upon it.

 

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Posted in Photographs, Poems 2015, Ranch Journal

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Journal: February 2015 — Seven Pix

Posted on February 17, 2015 by | 9 comments

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Robbin and I went to the Paregien Ranch Sunday to check the cattle, feed, and rain gauge since the storm on the 7th, 8th and 9th. An 1.43″, which was more than anywhere else on the ranch. We’re still trending warm and dry with wildflowers blooming a month earlier than normal, the poppies above and below in Ridenhour Canyon.

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Despite the lush look of spring, there is no rain in the forecast for the rest of the month with temperatures in the mid-70s. We’ll be needing another rain soon or it will be a short grass season. Nevertheless, the cattle are doing well, both cows and calves, taking advantage of early and strong feed.

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Looking ahead, we shut the cattle out our new gathering field to give the grass a chance to grow before we wean, which is normally in May — but it may be March or April if it doesn’t rain.

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Checking on the Windmill Spring, we were greeted enthusiastically by our independent ‘Little Buddy’ who can be seen helping us cut firewood Here and helping me plumb a trough Here before he was branded and tagged in December.

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Though it appears that we’re both having a drink, I was blowing on the overflow pipe to unplug it. Of course, our ‘Little Buddy’ was well aware of the hay in the back of the Kubota.

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OLD NEIGHBORS

Posted on February 12, 2015 by | 10 comments

 

                        By the excellence of his work the workman is a neighbor.
                        By selling only what he would not despise to own
                        the salesman is a neighbor. By selling what is good
                        his character survives the market.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

We wish success for all our neighbors, fat
calves and money enough to buy good bulls
looking for work on our side of the fence,
and ours on theirs, despite best intentions.

Today, old neighbors come to help brand calves
with respect—rope, stretch and vaccinate
rambunctious children to a slow waltz—
to share the bounty of our heritage

despite the drought, despite the cows
we had to sell to save the others
and ourselves. Character upon this ground,
we have survived weather and the market.

 

10 Comments

Posted in Poems 2015

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METAL ROOFS

Posted on February 11, 2015 by | 11 comments

 

                        Let me wake in the night
                        and hear it raining
                        and go back to sleep.
                              – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

The lullaby that soothes my brain,
a metal roof under rain, proof
of gods and goddesses on the job

while I rest completely—let night
take me unafraid anywhere it wants
until the glistening of puddled mornings

blind me with glimpses of paradise
upon this earth, wet and wanting
nothing more from rustic religions.

Every church should acoustically angle
its spires and ridgelines to accentuate
these heaven’s gifts—and to withstand

retribution’s thunderous roar while
renting and gnashing huddle beneath
the storms that flood the rivers muddy.

We are not the architects, nor the nomads
chasing rain from place to place with herds
anymore. We pray instead for basic

sustenance to run upon and off our roofs,
season after season—no two the same—
to wake in the night and hear it raining.

 

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GOOD LUCK FISHING

Posted on February 10, 2015 by | 2 comments

 

                         Don’t pray for the rain to stop.
                         Pray for good luck fishing
                         when the river floods.
                                – Wendell Berry (“Prayers and Sayings of the Mad Farmer”)

And we will fish reflection pools
with Egrets and Great Blue Herons, wade
cloudy skies when the creek subsides

listening to the glorious chorus of tree frogs
croaking symphonies from fresh verdancy—
the canyon clean, all tracks erased

but for the moment to begin again.
What better luck can any god offer
a mad farmer, or mankind?

April 1968: my feet wet with fishing
the great white limbs of sycamores,
naked canopies reflected below me,

recording fresh soliloquies on war
that have not changed but for poetic
editing each time the creek rises—

hope still claims high water marks
beyond the creek bank, despite
clear-cut scars upon this landscape

after a decade’s invasion of machinery
from towns craving to become cities.
We pray yet for good luck fishing.

 

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Posted in Poems 2015

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