Riding like a banshee,
screaming with the wind,
my bike, my breath and me,
we glide, we fly, we grind
up the gravity-defying spine
of the hill and wind our way
through mustard fields,
sprung tall, bursting
from the earth
into the arching blue
of heaven’s vault,
a boundless realm
inhabited by red-tailed hawks
and finches, sweet of song,
yellow sunbursts, whose melodies
trickle down to mingle with the mustard sprigs.
They sing, those finches, of the joy of spring, of tender breezes and clouds which tease the eye, drifting and slipping from fleecy sheep to oyster pearl, unfurling vapor…
An ancient Indian fable tells the story of a spiritual seeker who climbed a mountain to reach a legendary guru. Upon the seeker’s arrival at the entrance to the guru’s cave, the master said, “let us have some tea.” The student entered the cave and told the master how excited he was to receive the teacher’s wisdom. He then proceeded to tell him about everything he had already been studying and that he didn’t understand why he had not reached enlightenment yet.
So en rapt with his own words was the student that he failed to notice that the master…
Sometimes I feel like and old and seasoned poet,
looking over my shoulder
at my own words.
Connections from the past wash over me —
echoes, memories, an overdose of being.
Transitions, boundaries, they’re fluid here,
in this place and time when I move
a mystical being caught in the unfurling
of words suddenly scrolling across the page,
whispered into my ear
by my very own shade,
the one who haunts my dreams
and compels me to complete
the work she’s already seen.
I look again through the lens of the ages, down at the page in front…
My husband and I recently returned from an impromptu week in Maui. Maui’s warm waters, azure waves, turtles and whales have brought us back to this tropical paradise year after year for the last thirty years. We just cannot resist her siren song for very long. We missed our trip last year, because of the pandemic, so when a client asked my husband to handle a matter in Lahaina, we jumped on the opportunity and tacked on a few extra days.
It’s hard to take a bad photo here. And the possibilities for some beautiful snaps abound around every corner…
“Hey, girls, I’m riding this pinecone. Are you impressed? I can even do push-ups on this thing!”
While on my daily hikes in Peter’s Canyon, in Orange County California, I always see lizards darting across the trail. First, they freeze, to see if they can blend into the dirt. Then, sometimes, the boys will do their little push-ups, which are intended to show the girl lizards how strong they are (or maybe to show me that they have dominated this section of the path). Then, unless I can step really softly around them, they scurry away into the bushes.
Oh honeybee, how you delight me
with the tickle of your toes
and your wild flap of wing
as you sing the song of spring’s
soft breezes, gathering pollen
on your knees, and dusting
my stamen with fertility.
When your banded bodice
and whiskered chin
skim my smooth expanse
of petaled flesh,
I digress from my task
of turning my face to the sun,
unable to resist your tender caress.
Oh honeybee, what will become
of me once you’ve left
my milky breast
and returned to rest,
once again, with your Queen,
deep in her hive of honey?
I don’t do crowds well. A bit of a hermit am I.
Solitary. Except for the company of cats, that is.
And birds. And plants.
I have whole conversations with my succulents,
praising them when they produce
those great arching blooms, as pink
and plump as a baby’s fingers,
sprouting from concentric rings
of green flesh.
I like people. Don’t get me wrong.
But the songs, the whispers
of the muse, are drowned
out in a crowd.
I can’t hear the sounds of my own words.
No, give me the ultra-sonic speech of Bisou, my “soft-focus” kitty, who glows when…
Wowza, was all I could think last night, as I tried to stay warm under three blankets. Everything on my body hurt, and I had a temperature of 103.˚My head throbbed like I was in the midst of a stampede of horses and my arthritic fingers burned.
If you’ve had COVID-19 already, your body treats the first dose as if it is the second one — at least this is what the pharmacist told me.
But, despite the discomfort, this was strangely reassuring to me, because I knew that this meant that the vaccine was doing exactly what it is…
There’s a moment when the silvered tongue towers high,
and you have to decide — do you rise, or do you dive?
They always come in sets. And you can feel the tether,
the tug against your thighs that precedes the big one.
And when you surface — for mostly I dive —
the pebbled waters glint like diamonds,
multiverses reflecting the sky.
And you bob amidst the waters, wondering
about the primordial essence of being.
Yes, there is a we. And a them.
But, here, in this moment, there is only me,
a solitary soul bobbing in eternity.
I closed my eyes last night, dreaming of gliding across a tranquil sheet of Maui sea glass on a stand-up paddle board in the morning. Maybe one of the ancient turtles who inhabit the waters off of the Maui coast, or even one of the whales, who are here to mate right now, would pop their heads up to visit me.
But, instead, I woke to blustery skies and to a sea darkened to cobalt and roughened to the texture of old leather. No paddle-boarding this morning.
My husband and I were talking about “firsts” last night — the first…
Photographer, yogi, cat-mom, lover of travel and nature, spreading amazement for Mother Earth, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MA Yoga, MS Neuropsychology)