when the ink ran black
across the sky,
my soul slipped free
from all that I knew
echoed in my ears,
and shimmers of light,
tiny pin-pricks — portals
to another world —
and then died
in the ether.
An owl cried.
I’ve just returned from a venture to Bend, Oregon, where we celebrated my birthday. I find birthdays to be annual occasions to dive inside of myself and really evaluate what is working in my life and what is not, and also to dive outside of myself and into the totality…
We slipped in amongst the shadows, where the tule reeds bowed
their heads in silent prayer. The water laps with soft slaps
against the matted detritus of summer’s abundance,
now moldering at the shoreline.
My paddle slices the dark waters and rises again,
sprinkling diamonds into the murk. And then…
After a hot, dry summer, with the constant threat of wildfires looming over us, I cannot even begin to express how wondrous the arrival of fall is, with her foggy mornings and the hint of rainy days to come.
Mr. Emerson, along with all the rest of my rescue babies…
The seagulls know when to jump in.
Four or five at a time, they dive
from the rocks
into the low-lying eddies sucking
at the edge of the vortex on the sea.
Screaming and gliding,
they rise through that warm breath of air
without beating a wing,
all the way to the…
On a recent hot, late-summer day in Southern California, I took a stroll through El Morro Canyon. A hilly, golden haven of dried grasses, the canyon drew me in because of the occasional cool breezes venting in and up from the nearby ocean.
I had just purchased the new Nikon…
Like one of the ribbons set in motion by a rhythmic gymnast, a long swoop of feathers swooshed across the blue of a South African Sky.
“Pin-tailed whydah!” our South African naturalist guide exclaimed. “Breeding.”
Grabbing my camera, I managed to snap off a few shots, but the bird was…
Do you remember the vacuous skies,
devoid of airplanes, but filled with birdsong?
And the monkeys jumping off of balconies
into hotel pools while penguins waddled
through the streets of Cape Town?
And the blue, oh that blue.
I’ve not seen quite that hue since I was a child
Like a peony opening to the sun,
unfurling its ruffled skirts,
allowing the warmth to touch its blood red petals,
the flamenco dancer swirls at center stage…
the focus of all the attention, yet oblivious, lost in the dance —
and, yet, wakened only by the dance.
As a soul…