It hasn’t come “on little cat’s feet” (Carl Sandburg), instead a blanket hanging for 10 days straight, a “radiation fog” as it’s now named, 44 degrees high yesterday, 38 degrees this a.m.
Of course, nothing compared to the snow storms elsewhere, but our grass needs sunshine. Other places in the San Joaquin Valley have experienced zero visibility, and often here the low lying fog spills over the ridge clear down to the creek. Perhaps tomorrow we’ll get some sun.
Stacked in the valley
and thick as milk gravy,
it spills over the ridge
in slow-rolling waves
eclipsing the daylight
to swallow you up
in cold cottony gray.
Easy to get lost in the fog
when you can’t see
your horse’s wet ears—
find something dry
to start a fire
and wait for it to lift—
or trust he knows
his blind way home.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022, Ranch Journal
Tagged fog, photography, poetry, Tule fog, weather
There were no wild turkeys here
when we were boys—no Great Egrets either
mimicking Blue Herons
statuesque in the pasture
waiting for the earth to move
a varmint cleaning house after rain.
Scattered atop the ridges,
we haven’t seen the cows and calves
in weeks, the young bulls longer
through December rains.
They don’t need us now,
they don’t need hay.
Lifeline of the canyon, the creek
arrived on Christmas Eve
running muddy, coloring the river
with streaks of chocolate
under the new bridge
it took years to finish.
And when the Tule fog
leaps and claws up canyon
like a lion to wrap us in a gray
cocoon that shuts the world away,
there’s nothing to do but wait
until the sun burns it off.
Posted in Photographs, Poems 2022
Tagged creek, grass, Great Egrets, green, rain, Tule fog, wild turkeys
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