winter solstice famished

You know the winter solstice is near when your appetite starts to roar. I ate a muffin around 7 in the morning, and at 10:30, still hungry, 3 refried bean tamales with salsa, a toaster waffle with yogurt and blueberries globbed on top, a slice of raisin toast, and a handful of chocolate kisses. Mangia, mangia -

Dandelions are so cheerful to see - bright yellow flowers, each with a bundle of slender petals. The green zig-zag dandelion leaves are good to eat - they make a salad look and taste all dressed up. The seeds are fascinating. When the petals start to droop and drop, little spindly rods appear, the tops dressed in translucent, silky white. Seeds are attached at the other end. A breeze sends them flying away, parachuting, to feed the bugs and birds or start a new plant growing. Both kids and grownup humans will pluck a seeding dandelion, make a wish, and set the seeds floating outward on a puff of breath.

notahaiku

twig of mistletoe
green and light
clings to the curb -
leaves fly by for a kiss

 
There was a little cardboard box -
embossed and fine.
when new, it held stationery.
The paper and envelopes were used up now
but there remained
the sturdy little box.
Soon, a stray of satin ribbon found its way there.
A beer bottle cap with a portrait of a handsome ram.
It had great curling horns.
A stick of gum, a used postage stamp.
Perhaps a green paper clip.
Random treasures -
a twig, a shining bolt.
A tarnished coin. A slender paintbrush.
A week would pass, or two
then - oh, yeah - I'd remember.
Every time I placed something new
it was a conscious thank (i-have-not-forgotten) you.

the Great Blue Heron
is indoors - seven inches high
and standing on the simple base
of a bedroom lamp.
Gazing toward the afternoon light
that fills the window casing,
the heron sees branches in the room-
leaves long browned and dry
anchored in a bucket of damp soil

a year-old haiku comes to mind:
'new and green,
or crumbling on the twig,
leaves maintain
their plucky outlook -'
Who knows what may take root.
'every leaf has its own soul'
i heard today
and will remember

Field

One of my happiest moments of late was finding myself in a field. Not like your usual city parks or school grounds or backyards. They tend to be trimmed short, and the ground is covered with a purchased grass and a few stragglers. This field was covered by the moisture of a very light December drizzle. At my feet, there was a surprising diversity of greens - the very broad leaves of what would maybe produce a big thistle, some tiny sumac-type leaves, little flowers - plants and grasses of many shapes creating patterns and bright smells that shimmer with life.

Within a block of the first house I remember was a field. Nowadays, this might be called 'an undeveloped property', but the kids loved it for what it was. Wild, ungoverned by adults. There was a football that was tossed back and forth. The girls called the tall thistle flowers powderpuffs. It was the kind of field where you might find blackberries, skunks, possums, rabbits. That field may be where the call of the bobwhites could be heard early in the morning.

Sometimes you'll see a sign near such a field inviting 'investment' and 'improvements'. A shopping strip, or medical center. Can there really be improvements for such a field?

ESP

somewhere
along our brief spans of time
lies an intersection
where you have already - will - or now
meet me (or i you somehow)
and there is was will be Jello
at the crossing
i don't know what flavor - you pick.

a momentous meeting.


so prophesizes
has prophesized
the Lovers' Fortuneteller
on North Memory Lane
someday