Australia ~ A World Away

Merril hosts Prosery Monday in the dVerse Poets Pub. She has chosen a line from Ada Limon's 

"The Magnificent Frigatebird" to insert into our prose: 

“I have no skills for flight or wings to skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself.”

I imagine him, a world away. We’ve never stood in the same room, heard each other’s laughter, yet I’ve known him deeper than many.

Ours is a friendship born of poetry, hearts laid bare through thousands of typed conversations.

And now, his body betrays him. His words have slowed, turned inward. He tells me gently, the time is near. And I sit here, oceans away, unable to reach across the vastness except with trembling words.

"I have no skills for flight or wings to skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself" he wrote, resigned to what comes. But I know better. He has soared all these years, in the space between us.

I won't know how to be in a world where he isn't a few keystrokes away. My ever-present friend, you will always be part of the poetry of my life.

 

Belle & Dobbin

 Today is Prosery Monday in the dVerse Poets Pub ~ MERRIL provides us with a line from Samuel Menashe's ~~ The Dead of Winter  

"I was where I am when the snow began"

Bend Oregon ~ photo by Helen

In the solitude of a frozen field, I was where I am when the snow began. A once-mighty team of aging horses stand side by side. Belle & Dobbin, their bodies bearing the wear and tear of decades spent working the fields on my grandparent's farm.

When we were kids, if we begged long enough, Uncle Billy would hoist my sister and I onto their broad backs. Off we'd lumber, up a hill behind the barn, to pastures they loved to graze. These gentle giants, now retired, carry within them the weight of countless seasons, plowing and hauling heavy loads. 

This day as snowflakes gently settle on their backs, they embody the tranquility of their winter landscape. In the stillness of the pasture I  sense a mixture of contentment and nostalgia in these aging equines, Dobbin and Bell, enjoying their well earned respite. 

Behold the Snow!!

Kim is leader of the Prosery Brigade in dVerse poets pub today. She chose a line from Rita Dove's poem "November for Beginners" to be included in our prose pieces ~~ "Snow would be the easy way out"

Winter break! To the cabin we head. Our trunk jam-packed with snowshoes, cross country skis, booze, food, books, music. Within 24 hours we find ourselves in an unexpected winter wonderland. Snow has been relentless, piling up around the cabin until it's reached a staggering six feet. It is both beautiful and terrifying, a picturesque prison of white.

At first we feel a sense of awe at the sheer amount of snow that has fallen. It's like living inside a giant snow globe. Now days turn into weeks, isolation and uncertainty begin to take a toll. We flip flop between feelings of frustration, fear and moments of hilarity. Because cabin fever is real!

To escape we get creative. With a few makeshift tools, we dig a tunnel to where we "hope" the mountain's slope begins. Sure enough, snow will be the easy way out.

Night Walks

a lovely line from e.e. cummings "Tulips and Chimneys"

‘In the street of the sky night walks scattering poems’

e.e. Cummings is my favorite poet .. followed closely by Leonard Cohen.   Fascinating how interchangeable their lines read. One might not know which lines belong to which poet. 

Imagine if you will, Paris. Cummings and Cohen walking arm in arm down the Place de la Concorde .. to the Hôtel de Crillon .. sipping late night martinis on the balcony .. tossing lines back and forth, like jugglers under the Big Top. One-upping each other, choking on their laughter. For in the street of the sky, night walks .. scattering poems. 

How Does Your Garden Grow

June 21st ~ Sunrise 5:22 ~ sunset 8:51 ~ the longest possible amount of daylight! High time for the pattern shift we love to label "heading for the beach, cause it's the weekend." Enough of walls, cubicles, deadlines, conference calls .. all the corporate BS!

 

Wheeeee, it's Summer! 

We gas up the convertible. Fold down the top.  Call Henri, ask him to open the beach house. Call the fish market, let Max know we're on our way. Best of all, we call gardener Rory. 

Trunk is loaded with tubs of garden plants .. guaranteed to soothe our corporate-weary psyches. 

Phlox, sedum, hosta, daylily .. mustn't  forget, I'd like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace. Ahhh, we've arrived. 

Let Happy Hour commence.