Tag Archives: weekly-photo-challenge

WISHFUL THINKING

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Horse short of wet at dawn,
cattle get the crop of green—
we mow the lawn.

 

 

WPC(3) — “Refraction”

DAWN

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Blessed at first light
with the radiance of hope
for one prolonged moment.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Refraction”

DUSTBOW

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Tracks stirred early
to rise and settle slowly
color the way to work.

 

 

WPC(1) — “Refraction”

COLOR WITHOUT DETAIL

 
Under split nails and ground into our hides,
we wear our work—we carry it in our lungs
without shame or regret like grazing beasts

of the field, harvesting hillsides, plodding
from water to shade—ever-trusting in change:
the miracle of clouds packing oceans of rain.

Circles with hay, ruts of dust deep in tracks
up mountains and through brittle canyons—
it boils, rising behind us in trailing clouds,

each particle prepared for a new beginning.
We leave the gates open to any water, any
collection seeping from the cracked granite

heart of these hills, our flesh, for a drink.
The unabashed, dusty gazette of soft trails
leading to each distant water trough

prints last night’s news, distributed far
and wide, but much the same—yet we cling
to fuzzy dreams of green without detail.

 

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WPC(3) — “Dreamy”

 

SOMEDAY,

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tears of joy
no USACE dam can
constrict, nor EIR

predict as if
acronyms save breath
and litigation.

The heavens in my mind
will open up
to consume me

like a leaf rising
upon wild waters come
to cleanup the mess.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Dreamy”

BIRDS IN BRONZE

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An endless dream: art
awakening in mottled light,
coin at its feet.

 

 

WPC — “Dreamy”

A Dozen Signs of Victoria

 

 

WPC—”Signs”

NIGHT SONGS

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Come songs of nightfall,
we are drawn outside to see
how to frame the world.

 

 

WPC — “Nighttime”

 

THE SONGS WE NEED

 

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It begins with
what small device,
what detail rings
into a melody
unfolding?

The hint of cloud,
the breeze, the scent
that rallies synapses
to soar into song—
poor words dressed

in new clothes,
the common tongue
revived to reverberate
from the soil—
what small device?

What catalyst
will change our appetite
for more, what selflessness
will help us see
that more is before us

beneath our feet
to feed us all
the songs we need
to find humility
and awe?

 

 

WPC(3) — “Endurance”>

EQUINOX 2014

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The air smells damp at first light
beyond the jagged silhouette of ridges
that frame my mind—no straight lines,
no ‘only’ connections between heaven
and earth as I glance up in disbelief
inhaling dark moisture around me.

First dew after a drought confounds
the senses armed for more hot and dry
and I want out—out of summer
and into pastures with the heifers
nursing their first calves. I follow
fresh coyote tracks in last night’s dust

to an isolated draw for yesterday’s newborn,
watching for motion among the boulders
and Blue Oaks that haven’t moved
in my lifetime, where the spring went dry
two weeks after we drilled our well
deep into the hardrock to artesian

a half-mile away. We had to trench
a pipeline back to the trough
from the pump—no straight lines
above or under this old ground
holding us together best it can—
and there I find them: fine.

We are tough enough to submit
to long days beneath a blazing sun,
wear mental armor, gnash our teeth
into lockjawed grins to get by, but
searching, ever-searching for new sign:
fresh proof that nothing stays the same.

 

 

WPC(2) — “Endurance”