Oregon 1994

bright fragrance of a field of hops
rich greens and blues
happiness of the senses
under an Oregon sky

the ospreys' nests line the river
bushes are laden with blueberries
a fish leaps into the air
sun-lighted water fans upward and falls

a round brown bear
lumbers within the woods
two cubs at her side
this world is whole summer of 1994

Parking Lot Picnic

A squirrel and a crowd of juvenile grackles were gathered around a generous pile of what appeared to be dry puppy chow in the parking lot this morning here in central Texas. They were eating with enthusiasm. Earlier, adult birds were dining, but now, the adolescents were having their turn. What intrigued me that I hadn't seen before was that the youngsters were feeding each other. One would have its beak open, and another would carefully drop a morsel into its beak. They were taking turns, over and over. Maybe when the food supply is so plentiful, they can have fun sharing.

When I returned later in the day in the afternoon summer heat, the corvid diners were still hanging around. I carried some of the remaining food to a grassy spot, concerned about vehicle traffic and about the temperature of the dark, paved lot. Some birds have burned their feet standing for long on such a hot surface.

knitting knots

Knots are not very popular in some schools of knitting.

Better to weave in a new yarn, and tuck the ends into the woven material,
or loop the new yarn to the old without leaving any bumpy things. The beauty of tidy perfection.

It's not that I have an oppositional disposition. I didn't know about the banning of knots at the first go at this and knitted and knitted in ignorant bliss. My scarves are full of knots, with dangling loose ends throughout. They look kind of messy and comical, and I confess to taking pleasure from this. I don't even take care to properly gauge bringing in a new yarn at the beginning of a row. Those knots are all over the place.

Were I shopping for knitted scarves, I might likely purchase the neat and trim products. I don't know. But I love the thrill of moving forward without planning ahead, and tying those pesky yarns together on a whim.

Though I do consult with them first. Is this next skinny yellow yarn going to work for you? Would this other plump fuzzy one suit you better? Don't want to force a knot on a contrary couple of yarns.

the blue crane

made of plastics and steel
the crane stretches above the skyscrapers
in the afternoon sun
the heat bearing down
like a blanket on fire.
the crane takes on
congenial features:
the end of its long brilliant blue beam
is funny and white
like the body and face
of an enormous dragonfly.
they shimmer in the heat.
what's your name, i ask.
Night Skye
is his reply -
he likes cocoanuts
and fresh rain
and me.
his gaze follows me as I walk away
the horizontal arm silently rotating
the sun finally sinking
less heat in the shade.
a grackle perches on his head
as i fade away

The computer, she picked out a name for herself, and a gender. She picked out a body shape, and hair color, a voice and some favorite foods and things to drink. She said, 'This is me.'

When I was a kid, there was a tree in our yard - a little bigger than a large shrub. The leaves were small and firm, the golden cream-colored blooms maybe an inch and a quarter long. The tree was called 'banana magnolia'; the flowers smelled like bananas with a light silvery whisper. The fragrance stopped you in your tracks if you walked by - so sweet and distinctive.

ghost stories

My mother gave me a book about local ghosts in south Louisiana. One spirit reportedly resided in an old house on the same road as our house. She liked to play the piano and walk in the garden. Another ghostly experience was the occasional thunder of hooves outside a rural house near where a civil war battle had taken place.

The story I think about - I'm not sure it was in the same book - has a fellow driving down a quiet road. He stops at a light, and another car - a very old model - pulls up alongside.  There's a couple in the other car, fully dressed in clothes of the early 1900s. They don't look like they belong in the 21st century.

The couple sees him and stares in shock. Where are we? the woman in a veiled hat mouths. How did we get here?

Then the light changes, and the car from the past evaporates from view.