Merry Christmas!

to do:

make pigs in a blanket
deck the halls
eat, drink, be merry
find the pickle
sleep

Pileated Woodpecker

This big guy was in our yard this morning, devouring the fir snag. So festive with his gallant red mohawk.

flicker call

last night we cut paper snowflakes and hung them over the door. i wore my favorite blue dress. snow falling now. my voice is gone. today i will drink coffee and make christmas presents, watch the snow fall on the firs outside, my paper christmas tree on the wall untouched. i have a paper life, i cut myself, outside my real life moves like a robert frost poem. tomorrow i will wake early and walk to the bus station, speak to children with my gravelly voice. i never sound older than i do now, paper thin.

Early December in Croton-on-Hudson

by Louise Glück

Spiked sun. The Hudson’s

Whittled down by ice.

I hear the bone dice

Of blown gravel clicking. Bone-

pale, the recent snow

Fastens like fur to the river.

Standstill. We were leaving to deliver

Christmas presents when the tire blew

Last year. Above the dead valves pines pared

Down by a storm stood, limbs bared . . .

I want you.

Beginning

by James Wright

The moon drops one or two feathers into the field.

The dark wheat listens.

Be still.

Now.

There they are, the moons young, trying

Their wings.

Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow

Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone

Wholly, into the air.

I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe

Or move.

I listen.

The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,

And I lean toward mine.

a short eared owl flew past my windshield and landed in the large mapletree as i was driving up the hill tonight (and the moon is almost full bellied)

for the sake of old timers

I memorized this poem and read it in front of my class in fourth grade. My father was so impressed he made me recite it at every family event for five years thereafter.



THE TURKEY SHOT OUT OF THE OVEN
by Jack Prelutsky

The turkey shot out of the oven
and rocketed into the air,
it knocked every plate off the table
and partly demolished a chair.

It ricocheted into a corner
and burst with a deafening boom,
then splattered all over the kitchen,
completely obscuring the room.

It stuck to the walls and the windows,
it totally coated the floor,
there was turkey attached to the ceiling,
where there'd never been turkey before.

It blanketed every appliance,
It smeared every saucer and bowl,
there wasn't a way I could stop it,
that turkey was out of control.

I scraped and I scrubbed with displeasure,
and thought with chagrin as I mopped,
that I'd never again stuff a turkey
with popcorn that hadn't been popped.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile And then come back to it and begin over.

Birches

by Robert Frost

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows—

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

andrea ran a marathon on sunday! 26 miles in 6 hours and 4 minutes ! woop woop!

4 years ago today my sister was diagnosed with non hodgkins lymphoma, now she is running marathons!!! i am so proud.

my days are like these

waking up at 5:30 does not get easier the more you do it. i get up and shower to wake up. i dress like a teacher, in black tights, a white polka dot turtleneck, and yellow knee length apron skirt. i realize too late that we are out of coffee filters. i try to do something with my hair, fail, put it in a pony tail. i try to pack a lunch, give up, and end up bringing peanut butter and a whole block of cheese. it is very dark outside, i can still see orion.

the kids are eating breakfast burritos and talking with their mouth's full as i read "tikki tikki tembo" and "if you give a mouse a cookie." i don't think they are paying attention. then they point to an illustration and laugh gleefully. or say something charming, like "that mouse will never get enough, will he?" this is my favorite part of the day.

off to reading class. the reading teacher is sick sick and the substitute has no idea what to do with the six year olds that are still learning their letter sounds. she needs help. i teach the kids the letter "b" and we think of words that begin with buh. cole is using the dry erase pen as a microphone. ken is humming under his breath, raising his hand and squeaking for my attention. he is not sitting crisscross apple sauce. i use my teacher voice.

i have become the discipline enforcer, reprimand-er i never thought i would be. i have excepted the necessity. luckily kids are forgiving, i still get hugs at lunch. they respect me a little more.

my kids are good during tutoring. alli brings everything back to snakes, he is very good at "s." stephanie is quiet during reading, but very sharp and confident one on one. maddie is awake and making progress with picture cards. we practice valerie's j's, she keeps writing them backward. bradey laughs a lot. cole asks miss spitler if she has any michael jackson stickers. she says no. he says, "that's ok, he was a rapist." miss spitler says, "that's inappropriate." later we laugh and marvel at how much he picks up from the world, the good the bad, the true the false, the pop songs on the radio.

i eat cheese and peanut butter for lunch. the teachers talk about "dancing with the stars" and "biggest loser." i don't have t.v. this is the only time i wish i did.

after school homework club= kids that don't want to be there. i don't blame them, it's not really a "club?" there is no secret password and no junk food. i try to make it ok. i have the third graders and i draw them pictures of dragons which they color and put on the front of their binder. we make spelling flashcards and learn how to add big numbers. chris talks the entire time: "i'm a fan of computers." i must remind him to focus on reading. they must write sentences for their spelling words, for "don't" andy writes: "johnny don't like homework club."

after homework club i am exhausted. we walk the kids out to the bus and finally i can let them be themselves. they can talk about whatever they want, or run ahead, or skip. i would like to hang out with my kids and not have to tell them what to do, and not have to tell them to be quiet and focus and sit criss cross applesauce. i would like to be their friend.

the bus ride home is long and crowded, the valley is filled with dust this windy day. i listen to neko case, driving home I see those flooded fields/ how can people not know what beauty this is?

another day another dollar. i get home at 5, find jordan. he's cleaned the house, gardened, made creme brulee and gouda prosciutto bread. who does this? who does this for me? it is my turn to act like a child. i fall onto the bed and nap. Will I ever see you again? / Will there be no one above me to put my faith in? / I flooded my sleeves as I drove home again.

http://www.marineornithology.org/

must read: 'Changes in marine bird abundance in the Salish Sea: 1975 to 2007.' by the great John Bower of Fairhaven College.

i will shelter you

i cut the last of the fall roses and put them in a vase, then clip the hydrangeas. this is the best tine of the year for drying-- when the petals are a dusty victorian purple. the trees and plants are molting, like my canary, and going quiet. the yard is fluttering with leaves and juncos, white bottomed wings and small brown leaves decorate the sky. at dusk i watch the bats, not much different than a quick little bird, against the blue gray sky.

my mother is arranging flowers in autumnal shades: chrysanthemums in yellows and golds. Asiatic lilies in reds and deep oranges. twenty years ago, when she was 7 months pregnant with my brother, she was hunched over the cavities of pumpkins in the stadium flower's warehouse, carving out their insides, one by one, to be stuffed with oasis and then filled with the same colored chrysanthemums. to this day, the smell of pumpkin guts makes her sick to her stomach. every year of my youth we carved pumpkins outside on the picnic table, our hands cold and numb, while mother watched from the yellow gold of the warm kitchen. my father cleaned up the pumpkin guts quietly and threw them in to the compost before my mother could catch wind of their scent.

how strong is smell! when i smell chrysanthemum stems i smell my mother after work. i used to bury my head in her hair and waist. when i became a florist, when i stood on my feet for hours, like she does, and arranged peonies and queen anne's lace, tulips, carnations, and chrysanthemums, i cut their stems and felt close to her, though we had never been farther apart. this is chrysanthemum season and pumpkin season and also the season of dusty roses and bright orange roses, and bright yellow and orange circus roses-- my favorite roses, the ones my mother used to bring home for me on birthdays and graduation, their faces full and happy, petals spilling open and rimmed with orange, saying "we are alive and beautiful but not for long."

be yourself and if you don't know who you are make someone up.


....................

corn maze

is a maze map an oxymoron?

magnetic bird #2: click on poem to read!

my kids:

one thinks i look like a teenager. another likes snakes. a lot. one likes to use my hand sanitizer. one likes kermit the frog, but not animal who is creepy. said student also likes mini star wars characters. very much. another is very shy and very attached. one likes to sing "miss mac paddy wack" to me. said student's favorite healthy food is elk meat, which can be purchased at the super walmart. one girl wants to be a hairstylist, one boy wants to be an army guy or a child actor. said student also wishes he could bring his bb gun on school property. one has a grandfather in mexico who has his very own donkey. all of them like seagulls. one speaks no english or spanish, but marshallese. this one puked on the play ground yesterday. one has hannah montana shoes. one boy, with a crush, likes to make hand signals to me while mrs. anderson is teaching. this same boy thinks miss spitler has pretty hair. one was not impressed by my cut out fish. one is a foster child who loves pink. another likes cats. actually, they all like cats. and sea gulls. and coloring. and recess. one girl wants to be a superstar.

me, all i want is to teach them to read.

To Assist a Garter Snake in Shedding Her Skin

soak her in tepid water,

place her in damp moss for one-half hour.

____

humans shed skin cells too,

slowly,

in tiny pieces.

before i met you, i collected skins

of garter snakes, the feathers of birds.

i kept them in a small wooden box

with the gold braid my mother cut

from the nape of my neck.

what does the garter snake lose

in shedding her skin? (pieces of herself)

i needed more than a mattress of moss.

one morning you showed me how to dance,

palm to palm in zig zags across the carpet.

i thought about bald eagles in courtship-

how they grab each other’s talons and tumble-

surely, they lose a feather or two.

hair is easy going: you cut your long curls,

i save a lock in a wooden box-

nobody really notices how humans shed skin

but last night, i lost my last skin cell

somewhere in a dark corner of the bar

while your fingers were in my hair,

i couldn’t save it.

____

after one-half hour,

the snake will shed her skin.

watch her relish her bare intimacy.

oh beaumont!

this weekend was nice. first the greek food festival on friday night, and then a hike to skyline divide on saturday (where i ran into russell! fellow wrc member, bus buddy, and old pal from scriptural lit). the weather was brilliant, my friends are equally brilliant, and the scenery was breath-stealing. the hike up was a bit of a struggle for me at first. whew! i am out of shape! but i got my stride down and made it all the way, tasting victory as the salt on my lips. highlights of the trip included two grouse sightings, many hawks, and a women hiking with a lama named sally, a dog, and three goats. one of the goats was a baby named beaumont and he wanted to follow our dog, luna, and the rest of us down the trail. the woman kept scolding poor, curious beaumont, saying, "beaumont, you have two options! stay or get eaten!" in a very stern and commanding voice. he stayed, though we wanted to take him with us.

anyone lived in a pretty how town...

by E. E. Cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town

(with up so floating many bells down)

spring summer autumn winter

he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)

cared for anyone not at all

they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same

sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few

and down they forgot as up they grew

autumn winter spring summer)

that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf

she laughed his joy she cried his grief

bird by snow and stir by still

anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones

laughed their cryings and did their dance

(sleep wake hope and then)they

said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon

(and only the snow can begin to explain

how children are apt to forget to remember

with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess

(and noone stooped to kiss his face)

busy folk buried them side by side

little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep

and more by more they dream their sleep

noone and anyone earth by april

wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)

summer autumn winter spring

reaped their sowing and went their came

sun moon stars rain

i started my job with the washington reading corps! i am working at jefferson elementary school in mt vernon! it is great.


sea animals i have recently cut out of paper:


1 walrus
1 orca whale
1 blow fish
1 crab
1 pink sea horse
3 sea gulls
1 sea turtle
1 shark (friendly)
64 fish

idaho!

i am in love with idaho. i am in love with the clear clear priest lake, the ponderosa pines, the moose, the stories of bears, the fast boat with no name, the slow boat named "doty," the sunken islands in the middle of the lake, the american kestrals diving for grasshoppers in the meadow, the meadow!, the mist over the meadow in the evening, the dark dark nights, the falls... the smell of the air which is sweet and warm.

we spent the last week splitting our time between priest lake, the ranch, and spirit lake. the boswells spoiled us rotten with amazing food, a rented boat, drinks, dinner at the elkins lodge. mr. boswell and his twin brother told stories all day, of their crazy youth, of the natural history of the ranch and priest lake. we spent the days on the water with the fish, the chevrons of geese. we went out to the local bar, millies, and danced cheek to cheek to country music. oh the glory of it all! these are wild places that i need to go to, to relocate the heart, the lungs, the breath, when they are taken away.

INTRUSION

by Denise Levertov

After I had cut off my hands
and grown new ones

something my former hands had longed for
came and asked to be rocked.

After my plucked out eyes
had withered, and new ones grown

something my former eyes had wept for
came asking to be pitied.

what's in my pocket? you never knew

wild nights, wild nights!

my sister came up to bellingham last night and of course jordan and i took her to casa for a potato burrito which i am sure she enjoyed because who doesn't like deep fried potatoes? tell me who! jake and pat and max and sade and bess showed up and we moved to a bigger table. we are in love with each other so we had a delightful time drinking 2.50 micros and laughing and trying to figure out how to separate the check while tipsy. i am glad andrea came up and went out with us and put her planner and raspberry blackberry whatever thing away for a while to just laugh a lot. next, we all squished into a booth at caps and drank more 2.50 micros, because it was monday. we trudged up the hill pretty early, jake groaning the entire way, and slept like babies. i woke early, put on the coffee and one of kori's 50's dresses. i felt like meryl streep in bridges of madison county while chopping potatoes barefoot. jordan made us a hash brown scramble. (i assured andrea that we eat more than fried potatoes, truly we do). he is so good to me. so silent and gentle and good. last night andrea said there is only room for one lunatic in a relationship. i am the lunatic here. the scrambling, babbling, giggling, neurotic, who says everything that comes to mind as thoughts skid fast. jordan grounds me. jordan brings me back to earth with a glance. when he speaks, he speaks like john wayne in an old western, every word careful and sure, while the rest of us try to catch ourselves from falling with our words.

magnetic bird lover

click to see my first magnetic poem!

burnt toast and eggs

yesterday we went to some hot springs on mt baker. the directions said "short hike to hot springs from parking lot" so we took the nearest trail. we walked and walked. we kept seeing footprints in the mud and thinking they were fresh, the beer cans abandoned on the side of the trail were a sure sign that the hot springs were just around the corner. eventually we ended up at a campsite where nobody knew what we were talking about. we turned around, thinking it could be worse. we could have no legs and be crawling back, it could be raining, we could have hepatitis. it was a nice walk nonetheless. i saw four frogs and the scenery was greener than green, a bed of moss and sweet fresh air. eventually we ran into a couple who explained that the hot springs were just to the left past the parking lot. they had mosquito bites all over their necks. the trail ended up being only like 300 meters. after our four mile detour the water felt very swell. warm. don't tell anybody but i love the smell of sulfur. there was a friendly guy from nashville in the hot spring and many cedar waxwings above in the trees. pat talked a lot. pat talks a lot. jake laughed a lot. jake laughs a lot.

i am livid today

i really do believe that what goes around comes around. if you live carelessly in this world the world will be ruthless back. there are things that we learned as children-- the little boy who called wolf: nothing good comes from a lie, the crow that sang "love, love, love is the answer and love is the reason we're hear," and of course, the golden fucking rule. someone didn't get the message. which leads me to this: the worst thing is to see the people you love cry and not be able to do anything to make it better except read them mary oliver poems and hope that she will save them the way she has saved you countless times.

In Blackwater Woods

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders

of the ponds,
and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.

~ Mary Oliver ~

A COLOR OF THE SKY

by Tony Hoagland

Windy today and I feel less than brilliant,

driving over the hills from work.

There are the dark parts on the road

when you pass through clumps of wood

and the bright spots where you have a view of the ocean,

but that doesn’t make the road an allegory.

I should call Marie and apologize

for being so boring at dinner last night,

but can I really promise not to be that way again?

And anyway, I’d rather watch the trees, tossing

in what certainly looks like sexual arousal.

Otherwise it’s spring, and everything looks frail;

the sky is baby blue, and the just-unfurling leaves

are full of infant chlorophyll,

the very tint of inexperience.

Last summer’s song is making a comeback on the radio,

and on the highway overpass,

the only metaphysical vandal in America has written

MEMORY LOVES TIME

in big black spraypaint letters,

which makes us wonder if Time loves Memory back.

Last night I dreamed of X again.

She’s like a stain on my subconscious sheets.

Years ago she penetrated me

but though I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed,

I never got her out,

but now I’m glad.

What I thought was an end turned out to be a middle.

What I thought was a brick wall turned out to be a tunnel.

What I thought was an injustice

turned out to be a color of the sky.

Outside the youth center, between the liquor store

and the police station,

a little dogwood tree is losing its mind;

overflowing with blossomfoam,

like a sudsy mug of beer;

like a bride ripping off her clothes,

dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds,

so Nature’s wastefulness seems quietly obscene.

It’s been doing that all week:

making beauty,

and throwing it away,

and making more.

chick a dee dee dee

went to "nineties night" with kori and jake. so skeezy! but the music is so nostalgic that we had to try it out. we drank a lot of rainier tall boys and ran into the adorable and fun shannon, who i worked with at the flower shop. i miss seeing her every day. anyhow, the dj looked like a tall chas, so we called him tall chas all night and kori kept requesting songs which were already requested, like MIB and the lion king, and kept denying that he looked anything like chas. finally, tall chas played some TLC. then this guy came up and started trying to get skeezy on me and i was like, "hey, we went to high school together." and he didn't remember me. and then this other girl flung herself on him and they started bumping and grinding, much to my relief. anyway, we all decided we prefer 80's night at rumors.

prior to that i hiked up to fragrance lake with the boys. not much with birds other than a few winter wrens, a lot of black capped chickadees, and some wilson's warblers. the birds have quieted themselves. i no longer hear the swainson's thrush in the back yard. the broods are all growing up into robust young birds, the juvenile towhee jordan and i have been watching on the feeder is getting his color, and we saw four young flickers in the grass the other day, looking large and self suffcient. i already feel the season folding in on itself and it makes me a bit lonely.

jordan and i made fajitas. grilled on the barbeque and then seasoned with cumin, cayenne, chili powder and tabasco. homemade tortillas. we love to eat.

ALL SUMMER LONG

by Carol Frost

The dogs eat hoof slivers and lie under the porch.

A strand of human hair hangs strangely from a fruit tree

like a cry in the throat. The sky is clay for the child who is past

being tired, who wanders in waist-deep

grasses. Gnats rise in a vapor,

in a long mounting whine around her forehead and ears.

The sun is an indistinct moon. Frail sticks

of grass poke her ankles,

and a wet froth of spiders touches her legs

like wet fingers. The musk and smell

of air are as hot as the savory

terrible exhales from a tired horse.

The parents are sleeping all afternoon,

and no one explains the long uneasy afternoons.

She hears their combined breathing and swallowing

salivas, and sees their sides rising and falling

like the sides of horses in the hot pasture.

At evening a breeze dries and crumbles

the sky and the clouds float like undershirts

and cotton dresses on a clothesline. Horses

rock to their feet and race or graze.

Parents open their shutters and call

the lonely, happy child home.

The child who hates silences talks and talks

of cicadas and the manes of horses.

remarkable things:

getting my hands on a copy of lorrie moore's new book before it is even on the market

jake showing up out of the green

matt damon in "all the pretty horses"

free food

what the rain has done for my radishes

jordan's eyes within ten percent of the same prescription as mine (to his luck after losing his glasses on the river last week)

running into sade this morning, at the least expected place and time

Royal

the greatest gloster canary ever.

on another note

it really does feel like august. the grass is all crisp and honey colored and smells like the vacation my family took when i was thirteen, to this little cabin on a river in wenatchee. i brought my bike, and there was a field and it smelled so good, like dry grass. grass hoppers were everywhere and would fly out from underneath my tires as i rode through the field. there were horses down the rode and i had just gotten the notion that i should marry i cowboy, so i rode my bike down the road to watch the horses. i had never been on a horse before, but in the second and third grade i collected plastic horses and my father built me a miniature horse stable with a trough and hay. when i did finally sit on a horse, at summer camp a year later, i found it terrifying. i am afraid of heights and horses are tall. but still, i was in love with the horseback riding instructor: a tall, lean cowboy from oklahoma, whose camp name was swiffer (like the cleaning products and dusters). he made me swoon. he wore the same tight jeans, white tee shirt, and cowboy hat everyday. i still have a soft spot cowboys, but horses scare the shit out of me. funny that i should meet jordan, from the wyoming badlands (the state with the license plate with a bucking horse and cowboy!), and find in him a lovable man. one who is also a bit uncomfortable with horses and owns nothing comparable to a cowboy hat or a pair of wrangler jeans, or, as a matter of fact, any jeans at all. anyway, i know it's august when the smell of dried grass gets me thinking about wenatchee, and horses, and swiffer, and jordan's calloused hands that could easily resemble a cowboy's calloused hands.

i'd like to walk around in your mind some day

we went to the rose garden at cornwall park today and i really liked it. then i drove down to lake forest park on the shoreline and my dog, stevie, jumped all over me. she is very very big. i am starting to feel restless and all, with not having a job right now and all. this makes me feel useless. however, in three weeks i will start my americorps position and work 40 hours a week. then, i know, i will wish i had nothing to do. what a catch 22!! i am excited to start the position though! i get to work with kids and they are so funny and charming and dazzling in many different ways, not like adults who are only funny, charming, and dazzling in a few ways (unless you are in love with them, then they become a kaleidoscope of all these qualities) . and i think i am, overall, more productive when i am busy. i love to do lists. in the meantime, i am lounging around at my parent's house, eating their chips. tomorrow i will head back up to bellingham and twaddle my thumbs a bit, then i will contemplate writing, then i will contemplate reading, then i will go lay out in the hammock and stare at the bush tits in the alder tree. they are so nimble, those little gray birds. on another note: jake e. poo is supposed to come into town in the next few days. oh, how i miss him. sometimes i take myself too seriously and he keeps me in check. life is for dancing and having adventures, not thumb twaddling. we will drink and dance and madness will happen and we will have a lot of fun. because that is what makes his "stoke meter" go way up. i need to get a stoke meter, asap.

my favorite stanley kunitz poem

touch me

by stanley kunitz

Summer is late, my heart.
Words plucked out of the air
some forty years ago
when I was wild with love
and torn almost in two
scatter like leaves this night
of whistling wind and rain.
It is my heart that’s late,
it is my song that’s flown.
Outdoors all afternoon
under a gunmetal sky
staking my garden down,
I kneeled to the crickets trilling
underfoot as if about
to burst from their crusty shells;
and like a child again
marveled to hear so clear
and brave a music pour
from such a small machine.
What makes the engine go?
Desire, desire, desire.
The longing for the dance
stirs in the buried life.
One season only,
and it’s done.
So let the battered old willow
thrash against the windowpanes
and the house timbers creak.
Darling, do you remember
the man you married? Touch me,
remind me who I am.

READ: The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden

today's thrift store finds

kori and i went to the salvation army today. steals: western themed purse, rose print high waisted skirt, pretty fabric, horse tea cup (turned planter), and a sparrow and dickcissle portrait.

and one gnome for dad (not featured)

if you love me say i love you

favorite spot