shoveling wind-whipped snow, yet still, from the apple tree, chick-a-dee-dee-dee.
From here to Idaho vast empty white miles of snow— my coffee, black.
Spring will come; knowing this grows hope in winter, A grass under these thin drifts. Always spring has come with Her solace, Her winged sky her chick-a-dee in the willow. But comes a Spring with famine gathered in the gray skirts of this thin snow– Comes round at last, Her dark birds gyring a desert … Continue reading What Shape is This?
Water, you would say to me, is God and kneel to touch your lips to water and water softened soil and with your ever thirst suck deep within you the body and the blood of the only holy you could will your love— I have never had Another and will not. Though I sup at … Continue reading Irrigator’s Prayer
She prays: “the rainbow— It's the full promise of god!” He sniffs the wet earth. In response to the Ragtag Daily Prompt word: petrichor. And the Word of the Day Challenge kin .
Late. Aspen leaves rustle shake glints of harvest moon— GeWongk of geese fades south. In response to the Ragtag Community WoD: panoply
“It’s the only way,” Evan said. He scanned the steep ice filled chutes and the long steep ridge. “Obviously. But where does it go?” Dorothy had a lot of things she had to be thinking of. Not the least of which was the seed she carried. “Seed of a new mankind,” the old shaman had … Continue reading They Begin the Descent into the Ufflands
Forgive me, eyes, I’ve scorned the dusky mesas, salmon and orange, miles from anywhere but sky. Forgive me, ears, I’ve shunned that sky closing in, chuckling with thunder and tittering half the night like a crazed old shaman who scatters vermilion and pollen among pottery and whiskey bottle shards in the rocks in the hills. … Continue reading On Leaving New Mexico for Civilization
The other day El Nosibor was moved to walk a mile. A walk of a mile would do his aching lungs good, it would build character in his 70 year old soul, it would build heart muscle, leg muscle. It would pump much needed oxygen to the muscle with which he makes up his stories. … Continue reading Report from the Mountains
wind-play bows whole groves, but today, just one grass stem dips— zephyr? grasshopper?