layers of desert color

hillside layered colors

hillside layered colors: beige, brown, gray

red-orange streaked with salt or gypsum white

sparkling with mica

now tinted green with spring’s intrepid coming of life

each layer years centuries, millennia, eons deep

most horizontal, some tilted from vertical as though whole

mountains were heaved upward awkwardly

another spring season in the succession of time

so vast it is beyond my comprehension

      mjNordgren  2/22/2022  Scottsdale, Arizona 

Calico Hills, Red Rock Canyon, Nevada

watercolor on paper, mjN Feb. 2022

red rock canyon

red rock canyon, nevada

 wild burro nibbling on scant gray-green

among unkempt cacti

in front of layered mountains, tumble-textured rises

and calico hills vibrant with orange, beige

gypsum white, scab-blood, iron red

grizzled brown, dotted green

and haunted by startling, deep-shadow black

 mj

sibilant sounds

shepherding

shifting

shadowing

slithering

shushing

silence

Reader comments: “Ooew! Conjures up all kinds of images…delinitely feelings.”

“I really like thisssss”

blame un-game

wrestling with pique over restrictions

and weariness of exile

mumbling, fretting, whining among ourselves

deciding we are put upon and liking victimhood

we attack

but who - in a pandemic - deserves to be blamed?

love in abundance

ah, the love in abundance

in this family

generation upon generation giving in support

through tough times

traveling inconvenient miles in difficult conditions

to be there when needed

to see the hurting re-created in warmth

and laughter

(im)balance

(im)balance

balance—so easy when young,

strong and unscarred

by the tricks and tempests

by which life distorts us

and once twisted

how difficult to move

with ease and grace

of mind or body

old age should be venerated

not ridiculed for its off-balance quirks

if only to acknowledge the pain endured

to be able to function at all

                                    mjNordgren  2/2/2022  N

ebony morning

ebony morning

as dawn’s colors

struggle to seep and ooze

between dark clouds

to allow the beginning

of our day

no longer quite ebony

the western hills of Portland and Cascade Range as i look east

rain in darkness

heart-drumming rain

confides the terror

of its fall

to the metal roof

oddly comforting

the sleepy people below

on the hedge

we seldom risk it all'

“Only bet what you can afford to lose!” seems good advice

until the moment comes we must decide who and what we are

will a sneak suffice? or will it bring us down in our own estimation

for the rest of our lives?

we are forced to look again at what we can afford to lose:

ourselves

*

Readers Comment: “WOW! Pray we take the time and have the wisdom to make best choices.” SA Oregon

unpacific storm

 wrathful waters

gray-green writhings

spouting white anger

in a beauty not to be touched

only witnessed from safe shore

Readers Comments: “I can feel the intense wind and spray coming ashore.” “I love the beauty of a stormy sea.” “I reread and LOVE this - except that it is SO Pacific, to be unpacific.” “Visiting the Oregon coast, were you? Great phraseology, MaryJane!” “You use words beautifully”

Readers’ Comments

Regarding mj’sNewsletter Vol 2 #1 January 2022

F.B., South Carolina: “I enjoyed you latest Newletter. We share a common interest in nature, among other things. Peace, joy and love.”

S.A., Oregon: “Wonderful newsletter, MaryJane! I loved all the birds featured, and the tender-heartedly touched by Home Tour. God bless you & yours now and forever!”

quiet times of healing

quiet times of healing

seem to take away

from life

so much to be done

so many deadlines missed

so many ‘ought to’s

so many ‘need to’s

so much busy-ness

it is difficult to recognize

true priorities

and allow ourselves to hear

the still, small voice

mutual admiration

The old story of the boy

teased about his many freckles

grandma hugged him, saying

“Do you know what I like best? Freckles!”

Grinning widely, he answered

“Do you know what I like best?

Wrinkles.”

country dweller

“Weren’t you afraid?”

the city man asked

i squinted, trying to remember

”No, not afraid. Awed.

I smiled and whispered

to him, ‘You are beautiful,’

and the bobcat, not twenty

feet from me, preened. He

knew I was an admirer, not

an enemy.”

not the first or last time

i’ve seen a wild creature

eye-to-eye

showoff storm

showoff storm

watercolor sky

and seascape

changing in the hail

wind gusts causing gulls

to land like drunken sailors

and ruffling tail and wing

feathers as they huddle

on the beach

sudden torrents of rain

beating, roiling sand

beneath the surface

to muddy gold-brown

churning the water

into foam white and gray-green

purple-blue in the shadows

of black-purple-gray clouds

this day in weather

google remembers for me

snow, sleet and cold

this day years ago

i am satisfied with rain

chill and fog filling

the valley below like

a milky lake

slow response

over many years

i’ve learned – most times –

not to react in anger

but to respect

my body

and soul’s reaction

and wait until my head

truly tempers my emotions

only then can i speak or

write with kindness

compassion takes a bit longer

laugh’s on me

once - not all that long ago -

i was able, competent

but sadness and pain

have worn me down

to where all there is left

to do is laugh

“your call is important to us, please stay on the line”

call important to us

 automated systems

convey upon my person

status as a customer

with perks for going

deeper into debt

toward their profit

when i feel like an individual

i merely try to ask a question

beyond their algorithm

after hours on hold

even i get the message

of cog-hood value only

pureed feast

pureed feast

after a week of not being able

to swallow or eat

my Robyn grinned

at being handed a hospital menu

of puree choices

she ordered

smiled broadly as the tray

was set before her:

pureed fish, carrots, pears

tomato soup, pudding and biscuit

each swallow was deliberate

but tasted, oh, so good

                        mjNordgren  11/20/2021  Omaha
R’s comment on the pureed biscuit: “It tasted the way I imagine French toast would taste if it were a puddle.”