Heavy dew on Salmonberry buds Friday, April 17, 2020
Heavy dew this morning for our early outing. Then the sun burned through. The grass just decided to grow. It became warm in the afternoon and we went for a little hike and visited with Nancy out on the street again. We ate Chinese food from Kenny’s. Jan loaded up folding chairs and a card table so we could eat in style on the sidewalk of Lincoln street. Nancy was happy to get out on the first warm afternoon of spring. She stayed bundled up in her sweater and heavy coat but Jan, Dot, and I were stripped down to our tee shirts and collars for our sidewalk luncheon.
I decided to celebrate with a bunch of photos I took this morning and some little poems I had in my drawer.
Day after Easter,
And I put the snow shovels
Back behind the shed.
Moving as one bird
Turnstones fly above the waves,
White sparks, disappear.
Pale spring light through our
Open window, your brown hair
Falling in my mouth.
Warm day, walking home
Ravens eating corndogs in
The back of a truck.
Before bed, I pee
under the hanging fucia.
Blue Heron fishing.
Late night, on the road
A doe and a spotted fawn
Frozen by headlights.
Red chairs knocked over
Rain-dappled in the sun
And a finch…singing.
Sunlit morning,
The glass I left outside
Trembles full of rain.
A tiny grey wren
Hops through last night’s cold ashes
Dabbing for meat scraps.
The Chilkat River
Runs colder than death in spring.
Milk white ghosts, singing.
Warm morning rain,
Only crows are calling now.
The boat takes you away.
Above rounded hips,
Aurora Borealis:
Like green satin sheets.
Gulls sing
Over herring egg rocks
taxes should be due.
Bright stars in a clear sky,
Dogs bark at a shooting star
And we are alive.
Whales blow in the sound
And waves crash against the rocks.
You type letters at the kitchen table.
The heron unfolds
Herself onto the mirror.
Where am I going?
The herring are in.
Our cove smells of ripe spawning.
We linger in bed.
How lonely I was
As I scraped ice off my car
Hearing a thrush sing.
Cherry Tree buds, Friday April 17, 2020
Fish bones on the beach
As if they were an idea
Which is all used up.
Light snow, stone gray sky.
There are rumors of new crimes
Coming every day.
On this foggy day
the white seine boats look like ghosts
chugging through the clouds.
Storm waves break on shore,
Churn white again and again.
How do you find love?
Bright sun, cold shadows:
It is hard to tell the truth
About anything.
Suin on the hemlock boughs:
A raven calls in the woods,
Where the shadows sleep.
Late spring, foggy day
The gray cat in long wet grass
stretches, licks her paw.
Long grass, pearls of dew
Slowly sliding down the blades
wait… wait a moment.
Dot on her walk up Indian River today.
Here is a recording I made after getting back from our little hike. I read from my second published book: The Curious Eat Themselves.
Women in shirtsleeves
put beer out in their gardens.
Not for you, dear slugs!
jhs
