chat over pear, hazelnut and gorgonzola salad

lunch overlooking the golf course

with beloved daughter and

creative son-in-law

always fun to be with

talking about family and boat-ramming

killer whales and wild bison unhappy

with people which reminds me

of how i feel about drivers who cut

me off in traffic

i leave for home feeling cherished

missing doe

haiku

whimpering within

fawn knows to remain silent

hidden long hours

blessed at my window

welcoming wild birds

with seed and tiny scraps of vegetables

in a wrought iron bowl up and away

from neighborhood cats and dogs

they come almost continuously

scrub and Steller’s jays, California quail

chickadees, wrens, robins, flickers

so many colors, shapes and personalities

a snowy owl preening on my fence

even eagles, osprey and turkey vultures

circling high above, probably drawn by my many voles as are cougar and

bobcats awesome in their sleek power

who reveal themselves seldom

so deer and even elk are comfortable

grazing my back yard

waiting to recover

a gentle day, not too hot, not too cold

enough sun to nurture the weeds

and the flowers, though they grow

more slowly and needing more care

i grit my teeth wanting to tend

the blooming iris and mow the too-

tall grass but i need to allow

myself to heal

i have experience in jumping

back into activity too soon

and long prolonging recovery

balance and poise

are not easy to achieve

siblings’ memories

our parents changed

in the eight years between

my birth and his

my sibs and i can never

write the same memoir

notes in the music of the spheres

dedicated to the Bells of the Cascades

to be an intricate part of a whole

to learn to be an individual note

varying in intensity and technique

no more and no less vital

to the music heard

than each other handbell rung or plucked

martellato-ed or malleted

important only as contributing

in its time and tone to the music

heard as aggregate ensemble

with each person, each bell contributor

enriching with skill and dedication

along with all the others to the harmony

of the song beyond ourselves

ringing meaning and joy in the entirety

of life before and after each of us

human that i am

again tripped over nothing

went down slow motion

unhurt but embarrassed

and frightened of how vulnerable

i am becoming

and how little i seem to be able

to heal what is wrong

human that i am

out of a gray-cloudy day

help and support sometimes come

from on gray-cloudy day or week

of rejection disappointment

and from unanticipated sources

from people who have touched my life

but not yet allowed me to reach to them

they give without assurance of return

and leave me, mouth open and trembling at their generosity

hair tumbled

hair tumbled atop her head

she looked a youth worn out

from last night’s fun

paying what she thought

was the price

little understanding

the true cost of indiscretion

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hostile takeover

   and leaves one naked before it

loss before listen

quiet one’s smile

lost in the self-assurance

that he knows how things ought to be

point taken, he believes, as he listens

but his pre-judgement means

he never he never heard

what she tried to tell him

dash

wee carnations, baby’s breath delicate

in slender, white container set

on the flat stone with loved names

and lifetimes of struggle, dreams

pain and laughter given no more

than a dash between numbers

soft flowers in memory

of their gift of life

but proving too insubstantial

as the wind nudges it over

the water spills across letters

etched in stone

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flatten that notion

privileged to watch the sun wander

across the horizon, going south

for the winter and north in spring

as well as overhead to mark the day

but i understand the concept

of earth wobble to crate the seasons

i twist my left fist toward my right

to grasp earth rotating on its axis

mental pictures help comprehend

when bare sight tells me the earth is flat

cq no longer reluctant

california quail no longer reluctant

to flutter up to feeding bowl

and large enough to not worry

about competition as she

fills it with her bulk and warns

off by the frantic flutter of her

question mark headpiece

sign of the disenchanted

they bought a lemon

believing money equals

wealth so mouths pucker

my zebras

six little guys

busy chirping, although not melodious

flitting about in their multi-story cage

tearing up the newspaper floor liner

stuffing their straw nest

pulling down strands i hang at the top

scolding me when i am late

with fresh water and finch food

and cuttlebone treats

choose not to participate

unaware, we miss the snake slithering

away from under our feet

the cougar peering down

from hillock above our heads

doe naked in the middle of the field

but so still we do not notice

skunk cabbage gives our noses warning

but how many lovely flowers blossom

without our ever seeing them

there is so much more to our world

than we quiet ourselves to realize

let alone become a part of

giggles and guffaws

 the giggles and guffaws

of our gang of four

contribute abundantly

to the noise in The Meating Place

but as the infant in her buggy

still sleeps, we continue to tell

tales and laugh with the joy

only precious friends can give                      

generosity leads

 generosity is a leading trait

of those around me

with never-ending awe

i hear our Writers in the Grove

listen to and support each other

i watch church members go

to do for others what needs

to be done but would never

be demanded or even asked

and family surrounds me

with priceless gifts of love

and forgiveness                            

watching dark clouds gather

  the poem reached within me

describing a tree’s cognizance

of painful damage of storm and fire

rooted as it was, unable to run away

shuddering now in expectant fear

watching dark clouds gather – thunderstorm?

or fire?