Watermark

The Garden This Morning

It's warm enough to snow again, a soft sparkly snow. I find I have little to say these days. It's not that I am preoccupied with the disaster -- on the contrary, as 120,000 people die on the other side of the globe, my life goes on as usual. It is this, I think, that preoccupies me. How is it possible? The cats and dogs go on demanding attention; I go on being warm and safe in my winter house; the television goes on offering me trivial distractions. And snow falls, and melts, and falls, and melts.

Red

in the copper urn
in the beaded purse
in the maple, the cherry
      turning
in the african belt
in the bentwood box
in the goldfish
      swimming the chilling pond
in the persian rug
in the porcelain bowl
in the photo of judd
      dancing with scarecrows
in the hopi drum
in the monster's mouth
in me, in me, in me

Flickr photos tagged RED

Fremont Market

Fremont Market
Originally uploaded by coolmel.

I love this photograph -- the colors, and the contrast
of the natural and the manufactured.

I Turn In This Season Toward Winter

Heavy as stone, I am falling. Illness
rises around me, a cold, lethargic sea.
I am sealed from autumn. All the warm
colors slide past my faded skin. Geese
follow the call of the sky, the lanterns
of stars. Their own white bodies carry
them home. Maples are clouded in halos
of gold. They hold in their burning arms
restless constellations of birds.

Mushroomed Tree Stump

October

   

   

A few local sights (be sure to click the construction site for a larger image; this one quite amused me.)

BLOGTOBER banner greedily appropriated from Better Living Through Blogging.

Snapshot 22 September 02004

Everyone is settling in for winter.  Sparrows, chickadees and nuthatches fatten on autumn berries and my offerings.  A neighbor who is moving to the edge of town (up the Rattlesnake) bear country, brings me squirrel and bird seed she cannot put out at her new home. This week the roof went up on another neighbors' new house. 

The past few evenings, as the dogs and I walk along the dike above the river, we startle three beavers -- one!  two!  three! -- into the water.  Great splashes!   By now, I think they are not startled; they know who we are.  They know we are coming, and that we will pass without harm.

Still -- Splash!  Splash!  Splash!

           rainy nights
           cool mornings --
                summer's end

Roses in Rain

Candles

Photo by Abigail Robinson

Optimism