fat colors

 something more than the pale purple

dense cloudy sky

something about the color of earth

objects themselves

trees, grass—fattened

thicker as though osmosis

had already taken on water

and changed their reflective surface

even before the clouds had dropped

their rain

flickering aftermath

 flickering pale patch of light

barely alive on my bedroom wall

enough to cause me to rise to look

out across the valley floor a mile

or more at brilliant light of ambulance

and unsynchronized blue and red

flashes of six emergency vehicles

another accident on the curve

of country road that has totaled

many cars including my own

when a rusted sedan took that bend

in the middle of the road

coming toward me

long drive to dinner

 touched with laughter

party of five extended family

and loved friend

elegant meal overlooking

misted ocean

well worth the hour and a half

drive to the coast

warm day finally

a warm day, finally

even my light sweater shed

as we walked by the little shops

in old town McMinnville

delighting that spring gives

promise that hard winter

is at last letting go

deer and dear humans

can deer have had thousands

upon thousands of generations

without a philosopher among them?

has it been the size of the brain

or acceptance of culture that what

is good enough for father

is and should be

good enough for son?

or fatalism in religion

allowance that all is pre-determined

and useless to struggle against?

or combinations of all the above

that styme the lone maverick

when he tries to question?

dear human beings have not

been advancing so well recently

seeming satisfied to blame, victimize

and hate                          

tackle tall tufts

the weeds and grass

grow gleefully

in the rain

gyrate in gusts of wind

while my mower

mummifies in the shed

awaiting a day of sun

to tackle tall tufts

choking, coughing, conquered

doe watching sunrise with me

doe watching sunrise with me

elder doe watching sunrise with me

she shuffled into the yard, sat heavily

then curled and sank to lie, head up

looking east over the valley floor

content to keep vigil on the pale

gold seeping between purple blue

clouds, resting

welcome in as near sanctuary

as i can afford her

to her bedside

he moved quickly with feet

practiced in propelling

his wheelchair

he’d heard his wife’s moaning

growing increasingly agitated

and hurried to her bedside

to comfort and assure her

though she knew him not

--or did she? at that stage

near the end of life, how can

one be sure? if there was a chance

of her knowing his love

he wanted to be there with

gentle words and touch

needless pain they bear

individual animals figure things out

and their small group learns

a new method of dealing

with the world’s challenges

i.e., poking into a ant hole with a stick

whale belly-flopping high on a beach

to go after prey

but none yet sees a house

as shelter from inclement weather

they stand or huddle naked to rain

snow, sleet, hail when penguin

fathers could push snow together

to build a wall if not a roof rather

than use each other’s bodies

at the expense of his life

or osprey could angle sticks to create

a semi-cave in raw nest rather than

leave head and shoulders bare

to the storm

could we teach them? or would we

be leading them into our own

withered separation from nature?

dream beside

(haiku)

 depth dream sleep allowed

his longed-for weight and being

to lie beside me

pale orange patch

startled to glimpse a pale orange patch

i looked up from my computer

through the venetian blinds

at the distinctive hind quarters

of an elk not twenty feet away

in my back yard

such a thick, muscular body on

dainty hooves and spindle legs

massive, long head and heavy spread

of antlers—and not alone

just then aware of the busyness

around him, i leaned to look

around the porch posts and to

the other window

six huge, powerful, wild creatures

grazing within feet of me

keeps me properly humble

my deer, my privilege

from the weeks after we moved

into our newly-built house

deer gazed into our living room

windows

they had evidently been using

our field as highway and wondered

about this contraption only partly

blocking their path and the strange

creatures inside

soon they were back, nibbling on

the sod grass we’d had laid

and now, decades later, they return

as does, singly or a gossipy group

at times with gangly offspring

grazing on weeded grass and vegetable

scraps i share

seldom a buck unless young, newly

separated from his mother

this morning dark-haunched

older ladies unabashed to taste green

blades mere feet from my window

my privilege

bit my tongue

i bit my tongue too late

there is no honor

in refusing to tell the tale

after all of me rocked forward

to slander someone with his true deeds

sky rivers buffeted

our sky rivers buffeted, dislodged

from paths we on earth have come

to expect

changes in our weather from above

and beyond bring snow yet again

in the middle of april

and yet again the knowledge

that, despite our fussing, nature

will do as nature wills

as it weaves the world we live in

mj yarns

‘mj yarns’ bag my brother found

for me to collect my little writings in

for i both write and knit

stories, scarves, poems, pendants

sayings and sweaters

he brought the bag up my hill

to leave it on the stand by my chair

without explanation

then hurried away and wouldn’t

say even when i caught him

it took me a minute after his car

left the driveway to see and chuckle

he’s never asked about it since

willing to believe

we are so willing to believe

that what we experience

is truth

yet even our experience of color

is limited by the wavelengths

we can absorb, knowing that,

in reality, there are many more

at each end of the spectrum

why then do we limit God

only to what we are

comforting coincidence

sometimes the rain deepens

my sorrow

as though the earth pain

at my loss

but more often not

mere happenstance

and then my friend

quoted Einstein: ‘coincidence

is God’s way of remaining

anonymous’

how odd age

how odd age is

relative to circumstances

and age

at nine, thirty-nine was ancient

and now, at eight decades plus,

to lose a friend at forty-six

is to relive within myself

the frustrations and joys

of those years he will have missed

and be left only the hope

that his life, for him,

was enough

friends in blue

chuckles at puns

nods at sharing life incidents

warm hugs

smiles of understanding

friends gathered to unwind

together at lunch

and solving a jigsaw puzzle

as they sit looking out

over the pacific

osprey pair

osprey pair

one among the twigs of the nest

one on the crossbar high above

unsheltered from driving rain

waiting

stoic, impatient or oblivious of time

for nature’s next step

in their bespoken calling

to bring forth the next generation